


House of Malfoy

by SkarySkylar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Designer Draco, Draco Malfoy in a Fur Coat, Drinking, Explicit Language, Fashion & Couture, M/M, Medeis AU, Model Harry, Redemption, Semi-Magic AU, Slytherin Gang, Slytherin Parties, Teenage Teddy, Wine Slushies, general badassery, mentions of abuse, mentions of discrimination, pots and pans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 20:42:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9842915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkarySkylar/pseuds/SkarySkylar
Summary: The last thing Harry Potter expected from a trip to the grocery was to be snatched up for a modeling gig by one of the biggest names in the industry. With a snarky godson monitoring his every move, a couple mischievous designers pushing him to get with their boss, and his psychic neighbor Luna giving him ominous predictions of his future, he hardly thinks he'll make it through a week, let alone three months, in that mad house.





	1. Chapter 1

I. La Maison

      He cursed as his body lurched forward. Annoyed, Harry sent a withering glare to the woman who slammed her shopping cart into his spine. At first, it seemed she intended to sneer right back, but her eyes shifted to his forehead, to the scar that distinguished him from all other citizens of Medeis. Her lips quivered, morphing into a sheepish smile as she murmured an apology and left the line all together. Harry turned, fighting down feelings of discontent.

      Twenty-five years he had been ogled at for the lightning bolt on his head, or his distinctive green eyes. He should’ve been used to it by now, but there was no helping the surge of anxiety that came with being treated like some sort of zoo animal. With a shove, he made to adjust his cap and the bag of gummy bears in his hand screeched with the threat of bursting. He loosened his tightened fist without a word. Teddy would kill him if he came home with his favorite snack ruined. His godson was moody lately, no doubt due to an odd mixture of teenage angst and girl-induced heartache. Harry supposed sweets would help. Apparently, the bloke in front of him thought along the same lines. Curious, he watched as the dark-skinned man, dressed in a manner that could only be considered avant-garde, absent-mindedly twirled the tight curls of his hair as the cashier swiped a large box of chocolates over the counter into a bag.

“1 galleon and 3 sickles please,” The adolescent said cheerily.

      The man looked through a pouch behind his phone, frowned, then began to pat his pockets, emptying them out in a flurry of business cards, thread, and scraps of sandpaper. Harry raised a brow as what looked like the insole of a shoe emerged. The cashier twitched, the first sign of annoyance, before the man ran a hand through his hair, every line in his face alluding to stress.

“I seem to have forgotten my card at my office,” He said, voice a deep baritone. Setting his hands on his hips, he sighed deeply, self-loathing evident, and Harry felt his heart go out to him. He was just another working class man, trying to make ends meet. He fucked up bigtime, if the size of the box was anything to go by, and this really didn’t seem to be like one of his better days. Weird clothes or not, a person was a person, and everyone deserved a pick-me-up when they were down.

“I can take care of it.” The man’s brow furrowed, gratitude and relief letting his shoulders sag.

“Are you sure?” Harry nodded, handing the cashier to swipe the gummy bears too, before inserting his card into the little machine. The man stood a respectful distance away, thanking him profusely.

“You’re so kind Mr. Potter. A true humanitarian, just like your mother.” The cashier handed the bag to him, and he ignored the way the compliment stung, tipping his baseball cap out of politeness as he made way for the next customer. The man followed him out of the store, even after he handed off the chocolates. He stood in front of him, sticking out his hand. Harry looked down at it, then up at the honest determination in the man’s eyes.

“Zabini. Blaise Zabini.” They shook on it, never breaking eye contact.

“Potter. Harry Potter.” There was no sudden tension, no flash of recognition in the other’s eyes.

_‘He doesn’t know who I am,’_ Harry realized. A giddy feeling overcame him as he found himself giving a genuine grin. The bloke- Blaise- gestured to his right, words slipping past his lips like silk.

“I know my wallet is in my office. It’s only a five-minute walk around the corner. I can’t let you go without paying you back. My mother raised me better than that.”

      Harry considered the proposition. Casting a glance back at his Harley, he nodded, and allowed himself to be led away. Blaise filled the silence between them with talk about work. He and his company recently came from Italy. Alluding to the odd collection in his pockets, he clarified that he was in the business of constructing shoes and handbags for the elites of the world.

“The lowest I’ve sold a handbag for was 100 galleons. Can you believe that? Granted, it was for a friend of a family friend and my family doesn’t really associate with poor people and-,”

He rambled on and on, digging keys out of his pocket as they rounded the corner to face one of the largest buildings in the city: The Tower. Uncomfortable, Harry looked about, taking note of the green cobblestones and silver lampposts.

       Medeis was divided into 4 sections. While he and Teddy lived in the safety and tranquility of suburban Godric’s Hollow, he had never felt the need to venture into Salazar’s District. He wrinkled his nose. _‘Sin City’_ , they called it. It had all the hustle and bustle of Manchester mixed with the scandals of London to form a cold, cut-throat metropolitan not intended for the weak-of-heart.

     Blaise didn’t notice his discomfort. He just kept on his cheery smile, pushing Harry through the glass doors, past the curvy receptionist with little more than a _“Ta, Millie!”_ and into the elevators. It was here that things began to get weird. Harry’s companion fell silent, face going nonchalant and eyes losing their spark.

“Um, you alright mate?”

     The man hummed in response, staring as the numbers switched till they hit the seventh floor. Harry was tugged along with him through a crowded room. Fabric and thread was all around as the whirring of an air conditioner rang constant in the background of multiple conversations.

“Found one,” Blaise announced to the room at large.

      He released Harry as everyone began to stare, making his way to a desk in the corner to work on what looked like a pair of stilettos. Silence reigned. Nervous and thoroughly confused, Harry turned about to find these people, all dressed in white lab coats, pausing with thread in their teeth or needles in their hands to look him over. He felt their eyes roam over him, criticizing him, making him want to shrink into a ball and roll away.

     A woman rose. She was the only one wearing color it seemed. Granted, her outfit was all black, but it still proved to be a contrast. She strode right up to him, expression as severe as the cut of her sharp, black bob. Laying hands on his face, her grip twisted him, sharp nails digging into his cheeks as her kohl-rimmed eyes narrowed in on his jawline. Up close, he could see the dark bags underneath her faded green irises, the smudge of paint on her cheekbone, the number of piercings weighing down her ears.

As if sensing where his gaze lingered, she brought her nails up to nudge the arrow that _went-through her-bloody-earlobe-Christ_.

“I’ll take him,” She said resolutely, a smirk creeping up her scarlet lips. As quick as it came, it was cast off with the voice of a newcomer.

“Hands off Parkinson. He’s mine.”

       A man came whirling around the corner, slicked back hair gleaming in the fluorescent light bright enough to combat the shine of his oxfords. He stopped and did the same as Parkinson, pressing his hands against Harry’s neck tightly enough for his watch to leave an indent in his collarbone. Once again, it was the jawbone, cheek structure and the eyes that were subject to observation. Then the man turned Harry about like a ragdoll, looking him over as one would a piece of meat before purchase. He was close enough for Harry to smell his cologne. Nose twitching, he recognized the scent as one his own Godfather used to wear.

_Saint Laurent La Nuit._

      It was the only trace of his upper class upbringing Harry found on Sirius. His Godfather wasn’t one to be flashy about wealth. But this man, the one standing before him with a blasé expression interrupted by the curiosity in his dark eyes, had no qualms about attention.

From the Rolex on his wrist to the ‘LV’ on his belt, the man bled upper-class. Snapping his suspenders, he rolled up his white sleeves (Harry eyed the scripted tattoo against olive skin with interest) and whipped out measuring tape from back pocket.

“Approximately 5’10. A bit short but the jaw structure makes up for it. Somebody write this down! 158 in total height! Long legs, 90 centimeters-!” The woman, Parkinson, slapped the device out of his hand, face contorting into one of rage.

“Don’t even try it Nott! My model bailed on me weeks ago! I asked for a replacement first!”

“Your collection is practically done! I’ve literally two months to pull this thing together before he-,”

_“Before he what?”_

      Something gripped his core when the latest addition to the motley crew glided through the door. It was this something that spun gold out of Harry’s insides, and made his eyes see comets and stars where there should have been ruin. His breath caught, stilling in his lungs long enough for his head to begin to believe that he was drowning. Whatever complaint longed to leave his lips fell away as his mouth forgot speech. Then gray eyes met his, icy and sharp enough to hit his core and cover the gold with snow.

     The man stopped, stood unwavering with legs almost too long for his trousers, ankles pale as powder peeking out from under the black cloth before disappearing once more into the suede of his loafers. Stretching his arms wide, the two women at his side removed his white coat for him, letting him step out, figure slim in a dress shirt and blazer. Blonde hair sat, immaculate, crowning his head in a platinum halo. Lips thin and pursed, the man analyzed the scene before him, eyes switching from the three central characters with nothing short of annoyance and disappointment.

“What’s going on here?” The drawl sent shivers down Harry’s spine. No one dared to speak. The man shot a look at the surrounding workers and immediately they snapped to it, sewing and sketching as if the devil were on their heels.

“Well?” His demand was low, but nonetheless fear-inducing as he strode forward. “Pansy? Theodore? You were both so vocal before.”

“Theo’s trying to snatch my model,” Pansy huffed, crossing her arms.

“ _Your_ model? Blaise said he could find someone for _me!_ ”

“Please, I asked for another male weeks ago and you know it. Antonio left me back in October. When did Desmond disappear? This morning?”

“Two days ago,” Theo gritted out.

“That’s what you get for stealing some of my workers. Karma’s a bitch.” Pansy shrugged, throwing her arm around Harry’s shoulders. The man snaked his own around Harry’s waist, tugging softly.

“What I get is a new male model. Piss off Pans.”

“Make me _darling_.”

Tension rose as the two glared in a standoff. The blond stepped between, laying a hand on Harry’s shoulder, he pulled him forward, looking down at him with nonchalance.

“Who are you?”

“Harry Potter,” There were some startled gasps throughout the room, but the three surrounding him betrayed no sense of surprise.

_‘Foreigners,’_ He realized, as they broke off, speaking rapidly in a language he didn’t know, occasionally throwing glances his way.

“I’m Draco Malfoy.” The accent dipped in a manner Harry presumed was French. His voice was bland, a quiet drawl devoid of any emotion other than indifference and the undertone of disdain. 

“You may address me as Mr. Malfoy or not at all. You will be working with **both** Mr. Nott and Ms. Parkinson and they will split your time **equally** ,”

He glanced at the two, lips curled as they reddened.

“We’re eager to have you on the team. Welcome to the House.”

Twice, he snapped his fingers. They were those of a pianist, thin and delicate to the point Harry feared they might snap.

“Come, Astoria.”

      The woman with his coat, a pretty one with dark brown curls falling to her waist, started and flounced in his shadow. Throwing a curious, wide-eyed glance Harry’s way, she grinned and waved before Draco hurried her along.

     This left him with the wolves. Pansy took one long look at Theo before her knee came up and then Harry was wincing, phantom pain stinging his prick as he witnessed the man keel over and go down. With the pinch of her nails in his arms, she stole him away, spirting down the hall in the opposite direction of her boss.

“My name’s Pansy Parkinson. I’m in charge of the _Pret-A-Porter_ Division this season. Very pleased to meet you Mr....Pitch , was it?”

Harry struggled to keep up with her pace. Even in 6 inch heels, she was as fast as a track star, dodging incoming workers and racks of clothes with precision.

“No, it’s Potter. ‘scuse, but I think there’s been a misunderstanding, I’m not a-,”

“Well, as you probably already know Fashion Week is coming up. You’re not committed to any other designers are you?”

Pansy stopped. Harry blinked.

“Good,” she continued. “I’ll get your measurements now and we’ll worry about paperwork when Draco’s less busy.”

“Uh-,”

     She released him, digging into the pocket of her cardigan for a key. Sighing, she casually threw over her shoulder,

“So, it’ll be approximately 180 galleons for each day you stand for us, and 900 for each show you do. So all in all, you have the potential to earn 6,000 galleons in a month. We’ll have you on for at least three, then you add the bonus for successfully walking the show and, well you do the math.”

   His mouth snapped shut as the words left him reeling. He could get Teddy some new clothes with that kind of money. He could get Teddy a _car_ with that money. Heck, he could get Teddy a _lifetime supply_ of gummy bears with that money. Seeing his reaction, Pansy smirked, kicking open the door.

“Are you in?”

“You know it.” She laughed, wild and free and true, as her eyes took on an excited glint.

“Welcome to the House.”

* * *

 

      He collapsed through the front door around half past 9. It was the scent of chicken curry, potatoes and corn wafting through the kitchen that rejuvenated him, drawing him in to a seat by the table.

“Oh, _Harry_ , look at you. You had a long day today didn’t you?”

     The scents of fresh ink, coffee beans and vanilla mixed to form an awareness so distinctly Hermione as she left her book to rub his shoulders. Her curls were forced into a messy bun atop her head, making it look like a pineapple of sorts. Her eyes, deep brown and calculating, tried to see through him, as if she could real his ailments on his soul. She probably could. He wouldn’t put it past her. Mione was studying to be a lawyer after all, and those types were oddly perceptive.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Harry mumbled.

“I’m making dinner mate. Give me a couple mins and it’ll be right out,” Ron peeked out at him from in front of the stove. He grinned, red hair wild, as a waft of cilantro and basil went through the air. “Luna and Rolf are coming over too so we’ll need 6 places set.”

      Hermione got to it, brown hands weaving through the air as she brought plates and cutlery to the table. Harry watched as she bustled, folding napkins before settling them atop white plates.

“How was he?” He asked absentmindedly, nodding in the direction of the living room. The croons of Johnny Rotten came streaming in. Teddy had gotten into his father’s old records again, and was definitely having a ball if the sounds of jumping were anything to go by.

“An angel,” Hermione cooed. She settled back in with her book. “No trouble at all.”

      The devil came when summoned, blue hair sticking to his forehead in a light sheen of sweat as he burst into the kitchen. Upon seeing Harry, he stopped, eyes wide, and tried to back away. Rolling his eyes, Harry took the pack of gummy bears out of his pocket and threw it. His godson had no trouble snatching it out of the air. Contently, Teddy chewed, eyes turning emerald green all the while.

“Wotcher Harry,” He said with a wink. And, for a moment, Harry saw his blue hair as bubblegum pink, before it turned jet black.

“I hope you found the remote,” He said, swallowing the lump in his throat. The teen’s smile froze, too wide to be genuine as he went to hide behind Hermione’s skirts.

“It’s not in this house,” Teddy’s voice was too high.

“If I get up and find it Teddy I swear-,” The boy yelped, fleeing the kitchen with candy in hand as Ron and Hermione laughed aloud. Harry smiled to himself, tiredly nestling into his folded arms.

“You should really stop teasing him,” Ron said from afar.

“Please. Remus and Tonks would roll over in their graves, and I’m not going to go against his parents’ wishes.”

Hermione pursed her lips, clearing her throat as she glanced up from her book, and those knowing eyes stuck onto him.

“They would be proud of you,” She said softly. “It’s hard, but you’re making ends meet.”

Silence reigned, punctured only by the crackle of the pan or Teddy’s loud singing. Harry couldn’t maintain eye contact for very long, glancing at the photo of the couple that watched over them all, baby Teddy dozing off in their arms.

“I just...I don’t know how this is supposed to work. It’s not like I had parents to teach me what to do. The closest I had was the Weasleys,”

“ _Ayyyy,_ ” Ron did a little jig, breaking the somber mood.

“But staying with your best friend’s family doesn’t teach you how to raise a kid, or discipline one for the matter. Ted and I had this huge row this morning, yeah? Didn’t want to clean his room and _the remote has mysteriously gone missing-_ ,”

“Found it!” Teddy shouted back. Harry rolled his eyes.

“And I’m sure I’m supposed to ground him in this situation. But, how does that work? Am I supposed to keep him in the house? Do I take away electronics? I want to be fair but what punishment would suit the crime of not cleaning up a room?”

The couple exchanged a look, but the doorbell rang before either could answer.

“Don’t run!” Harry hollered, but it too late. Teddy was already slipping on the carpet to land in front of the door.

“Auntie Lu and Uncle Ro!” He heard the boy exclaim. The two fawned over the boy before stepping into the kitchen.

“Hullo,” Rolf said in that quiet way of his. He brought Harry into an embrace, fresh rain dropping from his swarthy skin to hit Harry’s jacket. Luna was next, enveloping him in a haze of lavender and blonde wisps.

“You’ve met him,” She murmured against his ear, breath cool and fleeting.

     He didn’t understand until she stepped back and he got a true look at her. Her blue irises were rimmed with violet; the telltale sign of a Seer at work. Soft hands finding their way into Teddy’s hair, she regarded him with a serene smile.

      Her blonde tendrils began to curl and rise with a force Harry couldn’t comprehend. A collective chill went through those in the room, save Teddy, who amused himself by morphing to look like the woman at his side.

       Medeis had quite a few of these individuals. Those blessed with power beyond human understanding. Teddy’s mother, Tonks, had been one, and she passed her abilities onto her son. Luna was one, and was the only person Harry could trust with instructing this teen with this aspect of himself. So whenever Hermione and Ron couldn’t babysit, Luna and Rolf would gladly take over.

But it seemed Teddy wouldn’t really need a babysitter anymore. Harry considered the thought, observing how the boy was now Luna’s equivalent in height.

“Harry’s told a lie,” Luna announced to the room. Rolf didn’t flinch, nibbling on a biscuit. He was subject to his fiancée’s visions first, and would know the future as soon as she did. Luna was just coming down from her celestial high, and surely informed him of all she knew before they came.

Her fingertips left Teddy’s hair to stroke Harry’s cheek, soft and supple against the skin.

“This is a blessing, especially for you. The ends justify the means I suppose.”

Sighing deep, she turned away.

“Don’t let Hermione cook tomorrow. The lasagna will burn.”

“I didn’t need to be psychic to know that!” Ron said.

      The kitchen erupted in laughter as the law student spluttered indignantly. Eventually, they settled down. Food on the table, music playing in the back and wine freely poured, they dug in, making idle conversation as they did every night. Being neighbors, group dinners were easy and convenient for the days Harry came home too late to make food. The social aspect was good too. Harry shrugged off his jacket, rubbing his hands against his jeans as he sat back, content with the bulge of his stomach and the people before him.

“You shouldn’t eat too much,” Luna said, eyes back to normal. “Draco will get angry if you gain weight.”

Ron choked on his curry. It took three firm pats on the back to get him to talk again.

“Draco as in Draco Malfoy?” He practically shrieked in his panic, ears rapidly turning violet.

“You know him?”

“Do I know him? Blimey, mate, he made my life a living hell back in primary. Rich as the Queen and smart as hell but a mean one he was. I suppose it was all his parents fault of course.”

“What was wrong with his parents?” Ron glanced at Teddy, and immediately Rolf tried to distract the teen with pictures of his dog.

The redhead leaned in conspiratorially,

“Bigots, the lot of ‘em. Racists. Homophobes. Islamophobes, you name it. They’re rich as hell, yeah? So a lot of their money went to the BNP if I remember it right.”

He lay a hand on Hermione’s shoulder as if to apologize, but continued none the less.

“The guy was a total prick to anyone he didn’t deem worthy. He had his little gang terrorize kids. Remember the Patil twins? The ones we went to the Yule Ball with in uni? They weren’t even Muslim, but after the whole fiasco in Paris, they got the worst of it, especially from Malfoy. I remember they got sent home crying ‘cause someone hung their panties on the flagpole. We all knew it was on Malfoy’s order of course. I never liked him. He always cheated during football matches too...used his hands so much you would think we were playing rugby,”

Taking a sip of his wine, he shifted to wrap his arm about his girlfriend’s shoulders.

 “Last I heard about his family, it was something with his Aunt. Bellatrix Lestrange. Absolute lunatic she was. Get this, yeah? She got arrested for kidnapping a kid. Kept the poor tyke in her house for a solid six months before the Aurors came around. Then there was the whole hostage-shootout situation. The story just about rocked the socks off of Birmingham. It was around then that Mum and Dad packed up and moved us to the Burrow.”

“What happened to Lestrange?” Harry inquired, morbidly curious.

“Life sentence,” Ron said simply. “She shot an Auror in the arm. He lived of course, but she’s still doing a stint in Azkaban. It runs in the family I think. His dad was locked up a while back on embezzlement charges.”

“What were you doing with a man like that Harry?”

      Hermione’s voice didn’t hold any accusations. Carefully neutral, she didn’t shy away from his gaze as he struggled to find an answer. It was fine, it seemed, since Luna piped up.

“He’s going to model for him of course. Harry’s going to walk in Paris Fashion Week this January, and February too since he’s doing Theo’s collection.”

He stared at Luna, weary of how much she knew. The woman only smiled softly.

“And to think two days ago we were making fun of the blokes in front of Burberry,” Teddy snickered. The teen took the news well, lips curled in great amusement as he regarded his godfather.

“But I thought you were working in the garage today? Didn’t you have to fix someone’s engine?” Rolf questioned.

“Is that why you came home so late? Too busy taking pictures for white supremacists?”

Harry shook his head fiercely as Hermione sipped at her wine. Her brown eyes frosted over and that neutrality fell into a stoic iciness.

“No. Listen, I was in the grocery getting some gummy bears when I met this bloke Blaise-,”

“Whatever happened to not talking to strangers?”

“That’s not the point! Anyway, I’m going with this guy to his office-,”

**_“Work place booty call!”_ ** Ron yelled.

      Teddy howled with laughter, giggles only increasing when Harry protested. Soon, it became a chant. The two stood and screamed it, skipping and jumping out of the kitchen to the tune. Harry rolled his eyes, expecting to share an exasperated look with Hermione but she only raised her brows, shrugging.

“That’s what you get,” She said, getting up to clear the plates.

“Mione, I didn’t even know.”

“Your vibe attracts your tribe,” Rolf said. Luna nodded solemnly.

“I’m only in it for the money.” Hermione made a sound of disbelief. “They may not even take me anyway. When they realize I’m not actually some high fashion model, they’ll turn me away.”

“No they won’t.” Luna said. Rolf nodded solemnly.

Harry gave up on them. Carefully, he approached his friend as she began washing up, grabbing a dishtowel. He began to try to reason with her, using hushed, soothing tones to get her to see his point of view. 

“I’m not even working with him. I’m working with some woman named Pansy and this guy Theo. I’ll barely see him.”

“You two are going to end up really close,” Luna said quietly. Harry didn’t want to turn around to see Rolf nod.

“I need the money for Teddy,” He said lowly. She looked at him then. Up to her elbows in soap suds, she sighed and shook her head. Slowly, deliberately, she cast her gaze at the picture frame next to the window, a newspaper clipping.

**‘Billionaire James Potter Dead in Horrifying Car Crash: Heir to Throne Sprung into Fame’**

His father, dressed to the nines with his arm around his mother, gave a wave from the photo, eyes crinkled with joy.

“Oh Harry...," She sighed, averting her gaze as a crease of worry nestled between her brow. "No, you don’t.”


	2. Le Visage

II. Le Visage

      Hands pulled and prodded at his scalp until he was sure he was bleeding. His hair, the unruly jet black mop, was never one to be tamed, and he was sure the woman trying to do so now would ultimately fail in her attempt to do so.

Harry peeked up at the stylist in the mirror. She grinned, shark-like, before hoisting an unusually large pair of clippers. He shuddered. Her smile widened. Her nails were as long as Pansy’s, painted red in contrast to the other’s black, and just as painful as they dug into his shoulders.

“I want a really thorough just-shagged look Daph. No mercy love. Just fuck him up.”

“Nothing too crazy on the hair Parkinson. He still needs to do my show.”

      Theo and Pansy sat on opposite ends of the room. Dressed to impress, they calmly stared at each other, lips brought into a thin line. The _click_ of Pansy’s heels running an indent into the ground was countered with the _clack_ of Theo’s own shoes, forming a medley of impatience and aggravation. They were a solid month away from the first of the fashion shows, and the stress was mounting within them, ready to blow.

Daphne scowled. Raising her eyes to the heavens, she tucked a strand of blonde back into her messy bun and snapped her gum.

“Listen up Rockstars,” Her accent was American, too hard on the ‘r’s and snarly in all the right places. Her bright blue eyes never left Harry’s, and now she offered a saucy wink.

“I’m not gonna cut his hair that much. I’m just gonna snip at it. We’re worried about basic look photos right now. So Pans, you want some morning sex _Rebel Without a Cause_ and Theo, we’re going for gentleman with a greaser edge?”

The statement leaned into sounding like a question. Theo and Pansy looked at each other, nodding. The stylist ran her hands through Harry’s hair again, getting a feel for the coarseness of it.

“Does anyone want hair dye?”

“ _No!_ ” A woman shrieked. All eyes looked to the doorway. A group of workers-‘ _Les Petites Mains’_ Harry learned they were called-drew away, leaving a homely old woman to answer for the yell. She reddened, gesturing wildly.

“He has his father’s hair, is all,” The woman muttered.

“Get the fuck out Gertrude,” Theo didn’t bat an eyelash, drawing a cigarette from behind his ear. Two quick strides and he was next to the window, blowing ashes into the wind. He didn’t seem to mind the intrusion all too much, but Pansy took note of it. Harry could feel her eyes on him. 

“So was your father a model then?” She inquired. He tensed, hiding the act by letting out a cough.

“No, he was...he was an Auror." 

She wrinkled her nose.

“Rather popular for an Auror.”

“Yeah, that’s my Dad. The really popular Auror.”

             Harry pointedly failed to mention the numerous organizations his father was a chairman for, the charities he donated to, and how he was the all-around reason Medeis came back to economic prosperity after the Great Recession, but Pansy wouldn’t care about that.

“So how long have you been modelling Mr. Persimmons?"

He tensed. Hermione’s cool stares rose up in his mind. Looking away from Pansy, he found himself watching Daphne’s hands as he admitted,

“It’s _Potter_ and I’ve never done it before.”

A pause. Then loud, snorts of laughter.

 “Oh gosh, you’re so funny. Come on now, where are your headshots?”

“My what?”

“Oh, you’re a riot!” Pansy looked to Theo, as if expecting him to laugh with her, but the man’s gaze locked on Harry. He wasn’t smiling.

“Where did Blaise find you?”

“At the grocer’s.”

     Daphne’s hands froze. Pansy’s laughing continued even as Theo bounded out of the room. Moments later, he dragged both Malfoy and Blaise in. The two looked rather disgruntled, the blonde more so.

            Thread and needle still in hand, his grey eyes narrowed into a withering glare, made fiercer by the dark rims under his eyes. Dressed impeccably, he strode into the room with an impressive sweep of his white coat. Green and silver embellishments climbed up the garment, shifting on his knees as he took a seat next to Pansy. Immediately, the woman went to cooing, running her hands through his hair as if to soothe. The man’s glare turned into a cat-like, half-lidded gaze of nonchalance as his gloved hand beckoned for Blaise.

     Remembering Ron’s words, Harry looked to the shoemaker for any signs of discomfort or abuse, but he seemed happy to oblige. He sat at Malfoy’s side, sketchbook in hand. His afro, picked out to its fullest extent, blocked his face from view as he hunched over his design.

“Where did you find him?” Malfoy asked, deceivingly calm. Only if you payed attention would you notice the twitch in his hands.

“Whole Foods,” He answered. The temperature in the room dropped, but he remained immune, sketching away.

“And you thought...” He paused, eyes flicking down to his cuticles in a show of boredom “He could just waltz in here and kill a runway show?”

Blaise sighed.

“Get up.” He said.

Harry stood. 

“Walk from that door to the window. Normally. Don’t try to be anything. Just walk.”

Harry did so, and when he looked to his observers, all of them turned to Malfoy. Theo was blasé as usual, but the hopeful expression on Pansy’s face started to affect him as Blaise smugly set down his pencil.  Their leader, however, only had eyes for Harry.

“He walks like a runway model. Do it again man. Go on.”

Blaise commanded and Harry obeyed, listening to the conversation in the background.

“Look at him. He’s walking better than Antonio did after months of practice. Don’t you see that arrogant strut?”

_“He gets it from his father,”_

“Get the fuck out Gertrude,” Malfoy drawled. His eyes roamed over Harry’s form, lingering on his face as if trying to break a code. Pansy was in his ear in a minute, rambling on and on about how the designs were already in the process of being tailored to his physique and how he couldn’t do that to her. He couldn’t make her restart. It was hard enough already. Then Theo, seeing how Pansy was making her pleas, began to make his own, largely along the same lines. This continued until they were both trying to shout louder than each other, screaming in each other’s ears about hemming and color swatches.

“Alright!” Malfoy’s voice came down with a crash, but it was no higher than a murmur. The two were quick to silence themselves. Something within Harry squirmed under the intensity of the other’s scrutiny.

“Do you want to do this?” His accent was thicker when he was tired. Harry took one look at the woman pleading with her eyes and nodded, ignoring Hermione’s voice in his head.

“It’s too late to take him out anyway. We can’t waste an hour, let alone a whole day.” Pansy sniped.

“He needs to be refined,” Malfoy said. Blaise turned, cheshire grin growing on his face. Feigning innocence, he tapped his pencil against his chin.

“But, _you’re_ the only one qualified to do that Draco. You’re the only one with the experience right? Weren’t you modeling for Dona in Italy for a little while?”

His boss’s pallid color quickly began to turn red. The scarlet rose high on his cheekbones, staining the face like a watercolor. Harry thought he saw stars as the man grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him out of the room.

They entered one of the largest of the backrooms, and it fell to silence. Harry hadn’t yet seen this collection, so the gasp of amazement that left his lips was justified as he took it all in. The amount of detailing required for each piece was amazing. There was no whirring of sewing machines. Each fabric was cut and stitched by hand, the colors dark and moody but as elaborate as Pansy’s edgy punk collection. The attention to detail was more intense for Malfoy. One could tell by the multiple headpieces and unfinished garments that looked like they would still need days of work to finish.

The outfits were subject to around 50 workers, who stilled as Malfoy approached.

“Carry on,” He said absently, and they bowed their heads in concentration.

“I’m not going to have to wear a dress right?” Harry asked, eying a rather provocative piece. The man sighed. Running a hand through his platinum tresses, he cleared a path to the large mirror in the back.

“No Potter.”

“You remembered my name,”

An exasperated glance.

“I remember everyone’s name. You’re not special. We will work on your walk first. _Allons-y,”_  

            And so they went. Draco standing, long legs and all, to the side as Harry walked the length of the room. He offered critique as he saw fit (“Chin up!” “No smiling!”) but it was really the idea of channeling his inner moody teenager that resonated. So Harry pulled the same face Teddy made whenever he was pretending not to be interested in talk about the girl he liked. Judging from the firm nod Malfoy gave, it worked as well as he expected it to. They moved to headshots after. Harry stood in front of a white wall, shoulders leaning against it as the other’s fingers fiddled with a camera. 

Brows drawn up in concentration, a trace of pink teased his lower lip as he adjusted the device, setting it on the stand and twisting it about to get the right angle. He had shed his coat an hour ago, leaving him in a loose button down. Like Theo, he rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, forearms pale even against the white fabric. A gentle brush brought his hair back, settling on his head soft as down feather. Grey eyes flicked up, stars against the night as the backdrop faded to black and all Harry could see was him.

His heart began to thud. Breath grew shallow as something within brought his hands to shaking. Grey eyes wide, Malfoy’s finger paused.

“Are you...alright?" 

“My friend says he knew you in primary,” Harry blurted because, yes, the best thing one could do in such a situation would bring up accusations of sexism and white supremacist tendencies.

Yes, it was the perfect course of action. He could feel it in the way his heart sank, the way he wanted to curl up in shame as Malfoy’s face turned to stone.

“Is that so?” The other asked. His tone was muted. The aristocratic mask was in place as he began to snap pictures. 

“Y-Yeah, I mentioned you and he said that you went to his school in Birmingham.”

“Does this friend have a name?”

“Ron. Ronald Weasley." 

            Harry didn’t realize he had hoped for the stories not to be true until those hopes were dashed away. The planes of Malfoy’s face, sharp and perfect, contorted into an expression of disdain, lip curling into a sneer. Lightning and thunder made themselves known as a storm brewed in those eyes, the promise of malevolence and mischief blowing the pupils wide.

“Oh, the weasel _”_ He drawled. “King of _Justice,_ and _World Peace_ , and _Unicorns_. Tell me, does he still piss himself whenever he sees a spider?”

“No,” Harry lied. Coils of indignation twisted in his stomach as he rose to his full height. Gearing up for a fight, Malfoy arched a brow, daring him to continue.

“Tell me _Potter_ ;” He spat the name like an insult. His voice still took on that low drawl, but now disdain stained it, dripping from words that were never raised to more than a drone. “What did you hear about me? What worthless blithering left Weasley’s incorrigible gaping maw this time? Talk of my father? Old news isn’t it? Oh no, wait, it must’ve been how _mean_ I was to him. Did he tell you about the time I cut his baby sister’s hair?”

“You cut Ginny’s hair?” Despite her status as his ex-girlfriend, the two were still quite close. An injury against her was the same as crossing him and no one in Medeis had ever dared to do so. Malfoy, apparently, had no qualms, since he just continued, setting the camera aside in favor of crossing his arms.

“Or was it my mother? Is he still bitter over the fact that my mother had the sense not to have litter of ankle-biters so she could focus on properly raising a child? His mother’s faults are his own problem he needs to stop projecting-.”

“Molly Weasley is an amazing woman! And definitely more of a decent person than you’ll ever be!”

“Is that so?” His voice dropped, chilling the room. Once more the workers paused, fear making their spines stiff. “Then tell me _Potter_. What in the world did Ronald the Weasel see fit to tell you about me?”

“We didn’t really talk about your mum,” Harry said, reddening. He let his voice turn to whispers, pitching it so only Malfoy would hear. “I mean...he was really adamant in making sure I knew about your Aunt.”

The red flush of rage left with the fight. Pale and at a loss for words, Malfoy took a step back, as if Harry had struck him, grasping for a chair. Immediately, he tried to fix it.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to strike a nerve. I-,”

“As if you would know,” His voice held no venom, just short of disinterest as his mask of nonchalance slid into play. Grey eyes, shuttered closed, pinned him to the spot with no intention of letting him go. 

“I’ve heard some stories about you too Potter. You wouldn’t really know what it feels like to have someone insult your family because _you don’t have one_.”

 If one listened closely, they could hear the sound of Harry’s heart ripping itself apart. His breath left all at once, leaving him lightheaded and parched. Malfoy picked at his nails, flicking away a speck of dirt as he continued. Each word fell from his lips weightlessly, but Harry could feel his skin burn with each cutting remark.

“It must be so hard being you: the son of the couple that basically ran this whole city, like a young Bruce Wayne aren’t you? I heard about the accident. What a _shame_. Your parents had so much potential to do good in the world and that was all cut short by some drunken idiot. Although,”

Malfoy’s eyes flicked up, then cast back towards the floor as a malevolent sneer played at his lips.

“Some say-how should I put this-It was that the accident wasn’t entirely one-sided. I’ve heard rumors about your father. A bold, brave Auror who never cowered in the face of danger. But he had his faults didn’t he? He sought thrills out too much, is what I heard. Some of the gossip going through the grapevine insinuates that he had his fair share of-,”

His gaze stayed on his opponent now, waiting for a reaction as smugness filled his features.

“ _Spirits_ the night of the incident. Weren’t you three coming back from a party?” 

“My father was not a drunkard,” Harry bit out. Rage made him shake and shiver and he couldn’t help but wonder what exactly what the hell he found attractive in the cold-blooded shark sitting before him. Hatred dunked him under its murky waters, drowning him in red as his muscles tensed. Hands formed fists at his sides that he had to shove into his pockets to prevent Malfoy from seeing. But the blonde took note of them anyway, smiling as if he had been complimented instead.

“Well you wouldn’t really know that would you?” His voice feigned pity, eyes peeking up at him through half-lids as his lower lip jutted out. “Weren’t you only a year old at the time of the accident? That’s when you got that scar I’ve been hearing oh-so-much about. You never really knew your parents-,”

“I _know_ my parents were some of the greatest people this city has ever seen. I’ve yet to meet a single person they did wrong which is much more than you can say Malfoy. So instead of ‘projecting’ your insecurities about your shitty family and their shitty reputations onto me and mine, why don’t you fix your own problems?”

The words were a tempest, loud and unrelenting as they enveloped the whole room. Workers gave up the guise of being busy as they openly stared. One Chinese woman in the back, black hair dyed with dark grey highlights, shook her head, failing to whisper to her flamboyant male coworker (“Yup. That’s it. 2 galleons he’s outta here before lunch.” “Psh, girl, no way. Remember when we was in Paris? Remember Lafayette? Asked one question about his Mother and he got the boot within seconds. Mr. Malfoy don’t play no games.”)

The blond recoiled. There was something vulnerable swirling beneath the mask. Harry could tell from his eyes, the way they shone with shame and something like self-loathing, before looking away.

The door slammed open. Pansy sashayed in, dark heels clicking every step of the way. She coolly looked over the room, pug nose held high as she turned from the help to Draco, and then she froze. She pushed her sunglasses down a fraction, fixing him with a worried look. She mouthed something at him, to which he did not reply. Without flinching, the woman pushed her glasses back up and strode forward.

“I’m taking him,” She announced. Harry was sure her nails would leave permanent scarring when they dug into his arm yet again, but the pain didn’t allow him to miss the way Pansy’s hand reassuringly squeezed Draco’s shoulder as they passed him.

It was only in the confines of Pansy’s own room did she venture to talk.

“I haven’t seen him that riled up in ages. You’re certainly going to shake things up around here Podzol. What on earth did you say to him?”

He bit back the urge to correct her, eying her with acute disapproval instead.

Her leather skirt clung to her frame, straining at its mid-thigh cutoff as she brought her shins beneath her in a crouch on the floor. Her heels were in the corner of the room, taking their place in an amazing array of footwear.

“You know, family business.”

To her credit, her fingers paused for only a second or two, before continuing to adjust the laces in the side of the black pants. The outfit was incomplete. Harry would be walking around shirtless for a couple of days while Pansy decided what she wanted to do for a top. But he liked the pants. They were as comfortable as sweats. Baggy and soft, he had no trouble slipping them on, unlike the trousers Theo had him wearing. Pansy pulling laces through the eyelets on the sides only served to make sure he wasn’t tripping over the fabric, making it fit to his form a little bit more.

“I never told you what the theme of my collection was did I?” She said suddenly. Her tone was soft. Without the sunglasses, she looked like an average girl. Her face lost that hard look as she pulled at her lower lip.

“Ready-To-Wear right?”

A breathy chuckle.

“No. No that’s the type, not the theme.”

She let her hands fall to her thick thighs, the clap resounding about the room as she met his gaze in the mirror.

“Progressive,” She said simply. “My theme is ‘Progressive’. Sure, some of the shirts have those catchy slogans Daphne gave like _‘The Future Is Female’_ and _‘Pussy Grabs Back’_ but, in a sense, it goes beyond that. Beyond the politics and the labels and things,”

She pulled her bomber jacket together, shielding herself against a chill that wasn’t there.

“There comes a point in everyone’s life where their whole world gets rocked. This can happen in a couple ways. Some people realize that orange will never be in fashion. Some people realize they’re in love with their best friend’s boyfriend. Others may come to the conclusion that they’ve been led astray, and have been moving in the wrong direction their whole life. Out of all these people, those in the last group that have it the worst in my opinion.”

She picked at her stocking, causing a run to begin to form at the ankle. Immediately, she began to do this to whole piece, probably for the sake of the aesthetic.

“ _’Keep Moving Forward.’_ That’s what my Apparel Design teacher taught me. Out of all the lessons I learned in _Beauxbatons,_ that’s the one lesson that stuck with me. You can fuck up dozens of times, but you only really lose when you stop moving, when you stop learning, when you stop trying.”

Pansy looked up at him. Her neck must’ve hurt under the stress but she gave no indication of the fact. There was something hard in her face as she grinned. 

“Progressive means to happen gradually, or to favor new ideas. It means to move forward. And _I_ think that everyone deserves the chance to move forward. Don’t you?” 

Harry didn’t know how to reply. 

* * *

 

            When he came in the next day, Pansy sent him straight to Draco without so much as a glance up at him.

“It’s Theo’s turn with you,” She said, adjusting a choker onto a pretty female model. “He went to Draco complaining so now he gets your morning. I have to wait.”

So Harry went to Draco’s backroom, but both men were nowhere to be found. The pretty Chinese woman from the day before, Cho, pointed him in the right direction.

She brought him to the elevator, pressing the 10 before leaning back.

“I’m surprised that you’re still here to be honest,” She said. “Usually with blow-ups like that, you’re out. Pretty face or not.”

“To be quite honest, I’m just as surprised as you.”

He expected to get a phone call in the middle of the night giving him the cut. As he and Teddy watched one of those Spanish soap operas his godson was oddly obsessed with, he kept glancing at his phone. Pansy had his number. She would be the one to do it. Or would Draco make Millicent, the hard and uncaring secretary (who could surely bring Harry to tears if she tried) be the one to make the call? He had hardly slept for the worry of it, and he couldn’t help but feel that he owed the man an apology. He knew it would be fair repercussion, but the worry of what Malfoy would do to him still made him shiver.

They hit the 10th floor all too soon. Cho gestured for him to walk all the way down the hall before disappearing back behind silver elevator door. For a moment, Harry stood still, taking deep breaths before making the first step.

Dragons decorated the walls, sinister and leering as they looped around each other, wings spread out to their fullest. He touched the paneling, fingers darting back with a start as it seemed to move under his ministrations, scales gleaming marine in the fluorescent light. The dragons led to the large, foreboding double doors at the very end. There was no knocker on the dark surface, only crystal door knobs. The design painted over the door was a night sky, with one odd constellation in its center.

Harry was no astrologist. He couldn’t identify it if he tried but he remained, looking it over, until he heard voices inside. It was difficult to hear more than snatches of the conversation, but Malfoy sounded almost jovial, so he took the chance and crept inside.

The room was just as large as those downstairs, but lacking the numerous racks of clothes. Only Theo’s collection remained in the center, just before a beautifully carved wardrobe in the back. . There were no workers here, just Malfoy by a window with a lovely view over all of the sector, cradling a spool of thread in the crook of his neck as he stitched into a white wedding gown.

He seemed at peace. A smile graced his features, softening the sharp planes of his face as his hair formed a glowing halo set askew on his head. His phone was on his desk, on speaker apparently. A woman’s voice, hard yet rubbed with worry, flowed through the room, the sound of city traffic in the background.

“ _Are you sure darling? One hundred and sixty looks is a lot...Not to mention the extra eighty in your pret-a-porter.  You’re shooting rather high_.”

“An-na,” He dragged the name out. Harry assumed this was a conversation they had before as Draco rolled his eyes in exasperation. “I have to shoot high to make the list. I have the world’s attention on me now. They can’t ignore me anymore." 

The woman left it at that. Changing the topic, the two hurriedly made plans for a Sunday brunch a month in advance with a man named Karl.

_“Ta Draco. I can’t wait to see you in Paris. New York hasn’t been the same without you.”_

“I know. I know. Best of luck with that editorial shoot. Hugs and Kisses and ‘ _Gossip Girl’_ reruns.”

Her light, bell-like laugh was the last thing he heard before the click of the connection snapping. Draco hummed to himself as music resumed. Harry had to fight down laughter as the man stood, swaying his hips to Ella Mai, as he circled the garment. To his credit, when he caught Harry staring, mouth covering his mouth to hide his grin, he hardly flinched. Only a slight jolt rocked his body as he immediately stepped in front of the gown.

“Who hated me enough to let you in?” He asked, as haughty as the Queen.

“I let myself in." 

“Glad to see that the Third Estate still lacks common etiquette. Tell me, _Columbus_. When your crossed the pond, did you ask before taking things or did you just glance at it and call it yours?

Draco pushed the mannequin behind the curtains with a huff, pulling the thick velvet drapes to a close. As soon as the sunlight left the room, Harry missed it. The tapestries hanging from the ceilings dimmed the lights, casting shadows on Malfoy’s face that only accentuated its thinness.

“Why’d you hide it?”

“No one gets to see this part of the collection but me.”

“Well it’s kind of too late for me isn’t it?”

Malfoy stared. Then he turned to his desk.

“I’m not talking to you,” He said resolutely, shoving designs into a folder. He put them in a top drawer and locked it tight.

“I’m sorry...for yesterday,” Harry clarified when the designer didn’t respond. It made no difference. He continued his silence, drawing it out and flooding the room with an awkward tension.

When Theodore knocked on the door, striding in with the scent of luxury and glistening hair gel. He wore dark jeans today, tucked into white lace up boots. Draping his coat on an armchair, he rolled up the sleeves of his cashmere sweater and immediately began to pull out his tools.

“Sorry I’m late. Pops is in the hospital again,”

“No use in apologizing,” Malfoy murmured. “Family is family.”

“No matter how aggravating it seems,” Theo muttered. He went to the rack and pulled out various pieces, pushing them into Harry’s hands without hesitation. Draco watched, unbothered, as Harry began to strip, every so often offering a comment.

“Broad shoulders on this one. Make sure you take that into account.”

He tried not to turn away but he couldn’t help it. His partial nudity didn’t improve the awkwardness between the two at all. Malfoy had no problem with being terribly blunt, and that was the most infuriating part.

“Rather fit too. Are you sure you want to hide his ass with a winter coat?" 

“With his bulk it’d be a crime not too. Most of the other models look like they’re swimming in heavy coats. The style wouldn’t suit them like it does him.”

“Which one?”

“Debating between the scarlet plaid and the pine green.” Theo said between safety pins.

Malfoy looked Harry over.

“Go with red.” He said resolutely. “You look good in it, and he’s close to your skin tone. Let Daphne worry about bringing out his eyes. You two need to worry about selling the clothes.”

            This is how it went on. Harry stood straight, face impassive as Theo did his work. Draco oversaw, commenting on techniques and possible effects of styling with smooth self-assurance of someone who knew and defined his craft. Their relationship was that of an apprentice and his master, Harry realized somewhere down the line. Theodore Nott was not the type to bow his head to anyone, so Draco’s harsh criticisms were taken with gritted teeth and furrowed brows, but they were taken without complaint nonetheless. Painstakingly, strong hands hemmed and pinned. An hour made itself two, and Harry’s legs began to shake before Theo took a step back. 

“I’m done for now.”

            He looked in the mirror. He had no right, but he couldn’t help it. Immediately, a grin shot across his face, wickedly satisfied. The pants, though tight, were smooth against his legs, elongating them till they were twin charcoal black willows. The sweater was soft but it clung to his arms and chest in a way that made the material stretch.

“I think the sweater’s too tight,” He said, trying to see whether his shoulders dared to rip the material.

“It’s fine,” Malfoy said sharply. Theo gave him an odd look, pulling the garment off Harry in a smooth motion. 

“No, I think he’s right. I’ll fix it. Pansy gave me this embroidering idea too. I think I might try it.”

The blond snorted.

“Sorry, but I don’t think catchy feminist slogans fit the theme of this collection.”

“No, not one of those but,” Theo said. “I think antlers would be a nice touch. It’s for Fall after all.”

            He stood back, considering his work for a moment. Harry did his best not to shuffle as the other man’s dark eyes came to rest on his face.

“Thanks... Parsnips. It’ll be a while before this is ready. I’ll text you if I need you to come in, yeah?”

            They all had to be joking. It was obvious that they knew to call him Potter. Pansy had only just started using his given name after their little conversation. The rest didn’t seem to want to make the effort. Harry restrained himself from a particularly fierce eye-roll as the man drew him into a classic bro-hug, clapping him on the back.

“Pansy’s coming up in a few minutes. Wait on her.” With that, the man pulled on his coat and left.

The awkward tension returned. Malfoy said nothing, strutting over to the curtain and twisting behind it. Harry rolled his eyes, bare chest exposed to the world as he made his way over to the desk.

“It’s a gorgeous dress you know? 

“Yes. I do.”

            He wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Collapsing into the chair, Harry took a slow swirl, looking at the organized files with a strange curiosity. The majority of the papers were designs, some unfinished but most dashed with color and accessory ideas. ‘PANSY’ labelled quite a few. At first, Harry thought that these pieces were the girl’s own, but then he saw ‘BELLATRIX’ on others, and he knew that the woman couldn’t possibly be working from prison.

            Which left him at a loss. He didn’t think too much on it. Eyes catching a photo on the edge of the wood, he refocused himself. It was in a lovely marble frame, oddly cool for the warmth of what was within.

            Draco and a woman smiled back at him, leather-clad hands clutched together as they sat on a snowy bench. Pine trees branches and needles brushed their golden wisps away from their faces, exposing the red flush of frost biting their ears. The two had the same facial structure, apparent in the skinny, long noses and high cheekbones. The crinkles under their eyes belayed laughter. If he looked closely, he could see Malfoy’s mouth still slightly agape in humor, front teeth teasing his bottom lip. 

            A single scarf, green and silver, wrapped around both their necks. They were close. Anyone could tell from the picture. But what stunned Harry was the unbridled joy on Malfoy’s face. He had always seemed so blasé, with his devil-may-care smirks and lethargic drawls. He had begun to doubt the blonde was capable of affection before he saw the photo 

            The subject of his thoughts sneezed, jerking him up and out of the chair before he could get caught. Just in time, as the man brushed the curtains aside 

“So much dust back there,” He muttered, tugging the mannequin behind him. He brought it to the wardrobe, slipping a key into the lock without a word. Harry caught glimpses of other mannequins dressed alike (How far back did that wardrobe go?) before the blond slammed the door shut. He looked from Harry’s position against the wall to his desk and back again.

“Pansy told me the theme of her collection,” The man began, hoping to distract. There was a pause before Malfoy crossed the room. 

“Potter, if I were curious, I would’ve asked.”

“What’s yours?”

“My what?” He opened the curtains to their fullest, bringing back the light.

“Your theme,” Harry was genuinely curious. Anything that could make the other man come remotely close to a smile was significant in worth.

“Why in the world should I explain my collection to a model?”

“Because you want to. You’d love to talk about it. It makes you happy.”

As quick as the grin appeared, it turned to a scowl. Malfoy crossed his arms, arching a brow as he leaned against the glass.

“Stop that. Stop analyzing me. I don’t like it.”

Harry nodded, feigning locking his mouth closed and throwing away the key. Still, the man ignored the question. He looked out the window. Morning had passed, allowing the bright hands of noon to envelop the scene. The sun hung itself high, overlooking the city below with an unwavering heavenly beam. Draco was caught in it, rays turning his hair into threads of gold as he leaned into the warmth.

“The theme of the Menswear Collection is ‘Legacy’. Unlike Pansy’s, most of the designs in that one are my own. I’ve allowed Theodore to debut 10 of his own looks. Naturally, if he fails, he won’t be in charge of the men’s line next year.”

He turned, face impassive as he made eye contact.

“Pansy proved herself last year, so she can do whatever she wants with the Ready-to-Wear. It’s her department now. She’s competing to get full control over the stores-maybe even become an offset branch.

“And the dress?”

“ _Haute Couture_ ,” His eyes were dead, but he couldn’t help the affection that slipped into the words.  “I’ve divided this collection into three parts, but the overlying theme connecting them is ‘Iconic’.”

“What do these words mean to you?” Harry asked in a hush. Malfoy smiled, and though it was only to himself, the model felt his breath catch. 

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

            His tongue burned with the desire to ask more, to learn more about the strange caricature before him, but before his mind could grasp at words, the door was thrown open. It was Blaise, rather than Pansy, that strutted in, but the woman was right on his tail.

She beckoned Harry over without a word, tapping her heel impatiently as he pulled on his shirt. As soon as he had finished, she hooked her arm in his, tugging him along in a jovial dance.

“It’s Wednesday Draco! Don’t be a prat this week!” The words were tossed over her shoulder with a blown kiss. Harry saw the man smirk before the door shut behind them.

“What happens on Wednesdays?”

“Wine Slushie Wednesdays at Pansy’s,” Blaise said. His grin was wide, flashing teeth as his eyes nearly glazed over in anticipation. “Party starts at 8. Get drunk by 9. Talk shit. Play games. Make all around bad decisions and drag your sorry arse home by 2.” 

“You can come too Pots!” The woman said cheerily. “I like you!”

“Gee whiz, thanks Pans!”

“You’d better come around 9,” They squeezed into the elevator as a line. Blaise pressed the right button before continuing. “Draco has this thing against drinking with the models.”

“What’s his problem?” Harry groaned. The two shared a smirk before shrugging. 

“He’s very focused on building this empire. It’s a lot for a twenty-six-year old, and he can’t afford to botch it up when he’s made it this far.”

            Which meant...Malfoy was around his age? Letting his bewilderment show, he quirked a brow at Pansy, who quirked a brow at Blaise, who quirked a brow at Astoria as the elevator opened. The woman took quick, light steps backward, throwing a startled look around with a confused smile.

“What’s gotten into you all?”

“We’re talking about your #1 favorite person,” Pansy said. Daphne popped up from behind Astoria, wielding her scissors like a blade. It wasn’t till now that Harry realized how different the two sisters were. Whereas Astoria’s brown locks were prettily curled around her waist, Daphne’s blonde hair was bound back by a scarlet bandanna. The younger favored bohemian dresses and gladiator sandals while her sister strutted in a bra top hidden partially by a bomber jacket, loose shreds of tomgirl jeans and heels high enough to rival Pansy’s. 

Cracking her gum, Daphne threw a punch at Harry, gold rings glittering inches away from his face.

“Focus up Potter,” She said, smirking in that sharp way of hers. Fixing her eyes on Pansy, the two girls shared an intricate handshake involving claps, fist bumps and a final two-fingered salute before bursting into giggles.

“Please tell him that Draco’s really twenty-six Daph. He doesn’t believe me.”

“Of course. Potter, Draco is really twenty-six. I know he doesn’t seem like it, but that’s just his face. Trust me. I’ve known him from birth.”

The group shifted as one, striding past the workers with shameless boisterousness in the quiet. Harry caught Cho’s eyes, smiling softly. She, and the young model next to her, only blinked back, mouths agape as the group let out a particularly loud bout of laughter at their boss’s expense.

“Oh my gosh. No, you remember the time we burned his denim jacket?” 

“The one with the patches and pins and all those dreadful things?”

“Yes!” Daphne screeched, already keeling over in laughter. She shut the door behind her, sinking against it as she grasped at empty air. Pansy was right next to her, tripping over herself in glee as she began to clap in mirth.

“He wouldn’t stop crying! Pots, you should’ve seen it! We couldn’t get him out of the house for _weeks_.”

“He was convinced he was going to bring the 90s back.” Astoria explained.

“He loved that coat like a brother,” Blaise gave a sniffle himself. As he turned away, a bit of Harry’s mirth fell to concern but the other shuddered with his own held back amusement. The three fell to quick, wholesome attempts to silence themselves, but then Daph snorted and they were at it again. Blaise’s smile was wide and true, revealing an array of perfect white teeth as he threw his head back.

“If he saw you guys like this,” Astoria murmured, shaking her head.

“Lighten up sissy.” The girl sneered. “Christ, those Englishwoman have turned you into such a stick in the mud. Do I need to bring you back to the States?”

“Those _Englishwomen_ have more class and sophistication than you traitors will ever know.” Pansy sniffed.

“Hail! Hail!” Blaise said. Daph shut her eyes, hoisting up her cellphone.

“God save the Queen,” She said. She turned on the flashlight, bringing it to Pansy’s eyes as the woman squirmed, batting her arm away. Astoria tugged at Harry’s bicep. Graceful as ever, she brought him to a couch in the back of the room, smoothing out her skirts as she sat. Demure, she looked up him through thick lashes, pretty enough to catch his eye but not enough to stop his heart.

“In all seriousness,” She began, picking at a loose thread. “Draco is a driven young man with creativity and intelligence beyond his years. If he says he wants to join the _Grands Couturiers_ , then he’s going to do it.”

“Sorry, but what exactly are-?" 

“There’s a group of all the top High Fashion Houses of the world called _‘Le Chambre’._ Its members are called _‘Grand Couturiers’._ Only a Grand Couturier can call their own collection _‘Haute Couture’_. It’s the epitome of honors in the fashion world to be able to do that. The amount of respect you gain is immeasurable.” 

She sighed. Turning her attention to her knees, her voice dropped to a whisper. 

“The criterion for being invited to join is terribly difficult. He’s a brilliant designer with so many connections but he only received his first acknowledgement last year. Granted, he’s young. But he’s shaken up the industry quite a bit. He has at least one workshop on every continent and a comprehensive mastery over all of the techniques required for high fashion. How many designers can flaunt that?” 

“The atelier in Paris is absolutely beautiful,” Pansy said, appearing on Harry’s right. “He used to go back and forth between here and there until his mother convinced him to stop.” 

“He was working too hard.”

“He’s _still_ working too hard. I don’t remember the last time I saw him eat.” Blaise said. Pansy nodded in agreement.

“What he needs,” She began firmly. “is a Person. One that’ll help him settle down. Take care of himself.”

“And no sissy darling. It definitely won’t be you.”

Astoria began to redden at Daphne’s remark, turning scarlet as the rest of them snickered. Harry looked about, teeth prodding his lips as curiosity dared to get the better of him.

“He used to be an asshole from what I hear,” He said innocuously. The laughter cut off like a needle ripped from a record. Astoria’s hands paused on her skirts, gripping them till the knuckle turned white. Pansy started as Daph’s face ranged between horror and shame. Blaise was the only one who didn’t seem to be affected, but he knew that these people could wear masks like they were born for it.

“Well,” The designer’s voice was bright, not at all like the hardness in her face. “We all used to be-,”

“Racist,” Blaise cut in.

“Homophobic,” Daphne continued.

“Condescending,” Astoria piped.

“Assholes.” Pansy finished.

            A general sense of shame soaked up the lightheartedness of the room. They couldn’t bear to look at Harry, too caught up in their own minds. Blaise, eventually cleared his throat, grasping Astoria’s hand in his own.

 “It’s a wonderful thing, to be able to realize one’s mistakes and learn from them.”

Astoria smiled, drawing the man into an embrace.

“The sins of the father-,” Pansy began, pointing at Daphne.

“Will _not_ belong to the son.”

            They sat, sneaking glances at each other and sporting secret smirks, before the stylist stood, claiming she needed to fix that ‘horrible thing on Oliver Wood’s head’ as she walked out. Astoria and Blaise followed and the two tittered to themselves.

Harry was sure Pansy brought him down for work, but she simply pushed him to sit on the wooden floor, taking the spot on the couch behind him as she ran her hands through his hair. They sat for what seemed like hours as she told him her story, voice uncharacteristically soft and low as her nails worked to soothe rather than harm.

She spoke of her childhood, of a great Victorian house in the middle of nowhere surrounded by rolling hills and flourishing gardens. She spoke of her mother, the woman who taught her with gentle hands how to weave cloth into garments, pulling and stitching with divine patience as her child’s clumsy fingers slipped over thread and pricked themselves on needlepoints. The woman was a deity in herself. She was the matron, the one who made the cold, overbearing house into a home; who made dresses and took her on trips to Paris and always smelled of lavender. She brought _warmth_.

            Except when her father was home. When her mother spoke with droll wit and airy ease, her father was short, clipped, cutting. Her touch was gentle. It encouraged. It educated. It brought color to the dull backdrop of Scotland.

            His touch brought color too, don’t get her wrong. His fingers painted violet and blue across pale expanses of skin, brushing red across noses and lips and eyes until her mother lost her divinity. The beauty remained, never tarnished by ‘falls down the stairs’ and ‘clumsy kitchen accidents’. But by the time Pansy hit secondary, it was her steady hands that guided shaking ones, making embroidery, kneading cookie dough and ever so carefully prying glass bottles from thin fingertips.

            There might’ve been some who were strong enough to leave a hateful home without spite in their hearts. She wasn’t one of them.

Pansy’s fingers slipped, resting on Harry’s shoulders. He pressed his palms against them, silent as wet warmth hit his neck. When the wracking sobs started, he brought himself back to the chair, rubbing circles into her back as she tried to reign it in. The shuffling at the door went ignored as he soothed her back into quite sniffles.  Harry wasn’t quite sure when he started talking, but he let his voice slowly fill their tiny bubble with sound. 

“I used to live in a cupboard,” He said. Pansy gave a start, but he shushed her with a squeeze. “When my parents died, I was sent to live with my Aunt and Uncle in Surrey. They were a right terror. I...I slept in the cupboard under the steps. Don’t make that face. The spiders and rats were rather friendly. I did the cleaning and the cooking and everything they asked me for. Looking back on it, I truly believe that I thought they would begin to love me the way they did my cousin if I did it all perfectly.”

 He paused, fighting down the waves terror and apprehension building in his chest. It was Pansy’s turn to squeeze his hand, rubbing his thumb with hers. He continued, voice notably rough as he uttered,

“Needless to say, it didn’t work. I never ate meals with them. I was allowed to have my cousin’s scraps, and maybe a plate of my own on holidays, but I always had to fork it down after they were done. I remember I tried to sneak some while I was cooking once. Aunt Petunia caught me and gave me a good thrashing with the frying pan.

“The thing is, I seemed to attract these things when I was younger. When I went off for schooling in London, the kids used to pick on me. My cousin had a lot to do with that of course, but I couldn’t really blame them. I mean, who wouldn’t pick on the kid with huge second-hand clothes, dorky glasses, and weird hair? Some of the teachers got in on it too, but it was the worst in my 5th year. I had this one professor and she _hated_ me Pans. I had detention with her at least five times a month and each time without fail she’d make me write the same thing over and over. By the time the year was ending, I guess she snapped cause she literally carved it into my hand.”

Her thumb stopped. He watched her as she looked down at his hand, flipping it over so she could see the fading white.

 _‘I must not tell lies,"_  

“I knew my parents’ car accident wasn’t actually an accident,” He murmured. “They were murdered by some madman my father put away years back. I just had trouble convincing everyone else of that. Just my luck huh? So here I am, at fifteen, with two dead parents, a family that starves me, and a crappy school with less-than ethical teachers. What does someone do in that situation?”

He waited for her, arching a brow in the way she did so well. It was a minute before she caught on, wet, red-rimmed eyes crinkling in an odd mix of disgust and amusement.

“Keep moving forward,” She said with an eye roll. “God, Potter, you’re so corny.”

“It’s the truth. I mean, I couldn’t get out of the situation myself, but I made sure I grabbed every opportunity I could. When my godfather showed up the following year, I came here with him and never looked back.

“So I suppose the point of this tragic backstory is this: yeah, where you come from plays a part in who you grow up to be, but it’s not huge. Who you are is who you choose to be, and you can choose to be a good person. It’s not a matter of strength. It’s a matter of will. And if you guys were as bad as you say when you were younger, then I think you’ve already realized that, cause you lot seemed to have changed now.”

“Oh, so you’re just that good at reading people?”

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” He admitted sheepishly. She smirked, brushing her bob out of her face as she gave his shoulder a solid punch.

“I like you Pots. You’ve got heart.”

“Well gosh golly. Thanks Pans!” 

She lay her head against his skin, as her grip suddenly turned vicelike, nails digging as if to find bone. 

“You do realize that if you breathe a word of this to anyone, I’ll have to kill you?”

“I’m still trying to figure out how much of your story is actually true." 

“You think I was lying?”

“I _know_ you were... _supplementing._ ”

            She laughed and laughed as he crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue chasing her around the room just as the door crept open. Breathless, they leaned against each other for support as someone with entirely too long legs watched from afar.

“Glad you two are having fun,” Malfoy drawled. Pansy jumped away, reddening immediately as the man sent her a pointed glare. He spun on his heel and walked out, the woman running after him pleading for him to wait.

Harry remained. Hands spread as wide as his grin, he let himself laugh with the elation of clarity. A lightness his body had begun to forget spread through him, making his nerves tingle as he sank back into the couch.

The feeling in his chest was telling him Hermione was wrong.

This was one of the best decisions he had made so far.


	3. Le Modéle

III. Le Modéle

     He wasn’t sure what the fuck he was doing. Frantically, he whirled around his room, wondering how in the world all of his good shirts ended up in the wash. But, wasn’t his definition of a good shirt drastically different from theirs? If he wore one of Sirius’s old muscle-tees would they consider it vintage and edgy or wannabe hipster? Cursing his newfound posh acquaintances, he pulled the garment in question out of the closet and threw it on, letting the loose fabric billow over his black jeans. Just as he laced up his boots, the buzzer downstairs went off, accompanied by the fragrance of baked cheese.

Teddy let out a whistle when Harry bounded down the stairs.

“Suns out, guns out huh?” The teen snickered.

“Don’t be jealous,” Harry threw over his shoulder. His godson followed him into the kitchen, violet eyes wide as he looked the scene over.

“Sooooo...that lasagna looks crisp.”

“I made two. The second one is for you lot. Don’t touch it.”

“You’re not eating with us?”

     Teddy tried to sound nonchalant, but Harry could detect the worry underneath his voice. He turned, and sure enough, the boy’s hair turned the shock of pink it did when he was emotional. He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt. It was his fault after all. He put his godson through a lot back in the day, when he used to spend more time around oil and car parts than human beings.

“It’s not work. I mean, it is in a way but I’m not going to end up in St. Mungo’s hospital. I promise.”

“Scouts honor?”

     For a moment, the teen seemed five years old again, looking up at Harry with wide expectant eyes, as if his words were law. Pushing aside memories of favorite blankies, thumbs in his mouth and parents that were still alive, Harry ruffled his hair and made the appropriate hand symbol.

“Scouts honor,” He repeated. “I’m just going to a friend’s place.”

Teddy’s grin turned wicked.

“A friend?”

“Shaddap.”

     Harry took one of the pans out of the oven, quickly covering the top to preserve the heat. He shut the device off and brought it to a close just as he caught sight of the time. Cursing, he snatched up his jacket, throwing it and marching off with a hurried goodbye just as his front door opened. Luna flowed in, long blonde hair messier than usual, with subtle bags under her eyes.

“When you stop at the Neville’s, don’t get her pansies. She’ll think it’s cliché. Get her a bouquet of 16 yellow roses instead. And get a separate tinier bouquet of-,”

She swayed, eyes blinking rapidly into violet.

“2 white daffodils surrounded by 4 lilies. For when he gets jealous.” She added. Winded, she collapsed into a kitchen chair, rubbing her head but smiling up at Teddy when he came over.

“That was...oddly specific.”

“The visions are becoming more frequent,” Luna said. “And there’s greater detail. I personally believe it’s due to a supernatural presence looming over us all, but Rolf says it has to do with you.”

“Me?”

“Something big is coming Harry,” She said slowly. Her eyes were hooded as her delicate hand reached up to ruffle mint green hair. “You’re at the center of it. The planets are aligning themselves up for you. Whether it’s good or bad depends on your decisions. At least, that’s what Rolf thinks. I’m positive it’s my grandmother’s ghost. Savta always knew how to meddle.”

She paused, looking up at the ceiling.

“I say that affectionately of course! Love you!” She shouted.

Grinning despite himself, Harry pressed a kiss to both of their foreheads, ignoring Teddy’s indignant squawk.

“Don’t stay up waiting for me!” He called over his shoulder.

“We will anyway!” The two chorused just as the door slammed shut.

      With that, Harry was swinging a leg over his Harley and revving it up. Cold, winter whipped at him, trying to seep past his helmet and into his gloves as he rounded corners and weaved through cars. He stopped at Neville’s flower shop on the edge of Helga Commons, a bustling Shopping District bordering the suburbia of Godric’s Hollow. The man looked as happy as usual, surrounded by his plants and his clearly pregnant wife as he made the shop run. He whistled as he worked, plucking flowers from various vases on display, asking a question or two about Teddy as he bound the separate bouquets with ribbon.

“Tell Hermione I’ve got vases I think she’ll like,” He said as he handed the arrangement over. “I know she wanted to put something on their living room table.”

     After saying his goodbyes, Harry was quick to be on the move once more. Pansy lived in the heart of the city, near the statue of Salazar himself. Warily, Harry came to rest on his bike, sitting back and shaking out his hair as he stared at the marble snakes coiling around the man’s feet. He shuddered as he twisted his key out of the ignition. He knew he had a house in the area. Grimmauld Place was left to him in his Godfather’s will, but he could never let Teddy be brought up in a place like this. It was cold, treacherous with the subtle promise of death that stuck in your lungs and crept up your spine till you were constantly looking over your shoulder. It felt, he thought with a grimace, like being tossed into a snake pit.

     His boots scuffed the ground as he climbed the stairway. ‘Merlin House’ was engraved on silver plaque in the red brick. Two pots filled with some weird green plant and peacock feathers stood on either side of the door. A black cat slinked out from behind the left one. She stretched, giving him a once over with an air of distaste that could rival the intensity of Malfoy’s. It seemed he wasn’t worth her time, as she quickly shut her green eyes and tipped her pink nose up, tail swaying as she sashayed down the steps and out of site. Thoroughly freaked, he considered walking away himself, but some morbid curiosity drove him to ring the buzzer.

     He heard laughter and glasses clinking as Pansy answered, summoning him to the 22nd floor. He strode in, nodding at the dozing doorman as he passed. When he glanced at his own reflection in the elevator, a knot of nervousness wound through him as he looked from his hair to the rips in his jeans and finally to the slightly wilted flowers on top of the lasagna in his hand. He was never one to worry about appearances, but he knew they would devour him like wolves if they thought he was shabby. He inhaled, straightening as the doors opened up. He just had to look confident. Fake it till he made it.

    He pressed the doorbell with his knuckle and no more than 10 seconds later he was met with the sight of Pansy. Her dress was a short tight black thing, provocative without a doubt, but it was without her usual garnishments. The expensive watch, rings and diamond encrusted chokers were gone, only her standard earrings remained. Her stockings, lacey black rose patterned, ended not in 6 inch heels sharp enough to cut glass but in adorable black and white panda slippers that Harry envied with a burning passion. Her hair was slightly mussed and she had not a smudge of her heavy makeup on her face. She seemed younger without the eyeliner, but the bags of fatigue were even more apparent. The unbridled excitement in her eyes when she caught sight of the bouquet made the jade of her irises push past it as she gushed aloud,

“Are these for me? You’re such a gentleman! Look everyone! Harry got me flowers!”

     She brandished the roses in the air, swirling about so that the occupants could get a good look. Only the inner circle of the fashion house was invited it seemed, and each was as dressed down as Pansy. Daphne, draped over a Theodore Nott clad in jeans, winked and hoisted her glass in the air, threatening to spill the contents all over her hoodie. He muttered something in her ear and she giggled, twisting to push her sock into his face and then she really did spill her drink. On her sister. Astoria was up in arms, uncharacteristically furious as she waved her arms and shouted about how this dress cost her 500 galleons and could she please have some regard for others.

     It was then that Harry knew he was definitely outclassed. Even the clothes they used to dress down were way out of what he believed to be a reasonable price. Squinting at the panda slippers, he surmised that they would approximate up to three months’ worth of pay, not taking bills or food into account.

“Trying to gain her favor Potter? Don’t tell me you’re scheming to be her main model. Not with that hair.”

Rolling his eyes, he turned to find Malfoy in the kitchen doorway, and promptly forgot all the snarky comebacks in his repertoire.

     His blonde hair lacked its usual gels, full and mussed as stray strands nipped at his ears. His elvish features, sharp and aristocratic, were softened by his inebriation; cheeks stained a light pink. A yawn escaped him, drawing his eyes shut as the sleeve of a cashmere sweater much too long for him came up to cover it. Scratching his arm, he arched a brow, lips curling in distaste.

With a start, Harry realized he was staring. He held out the lasagna, balancing the other set of flowers on top of it.

“For you.” He hoped he sounded more confident than he felt, but in the long run it didn’t seem to matter. Malfoy blinked then carefully cradled the bouquet as if it were a babe. As soon as Pansy came around, vase in hand, his grin turned wicked. Flaunting his arrangement much like she did hers, he stood before her, blocking her path.

“Good Heavens! Look Pansy. You’re not the only one with flowers. It seems you’re not his favorite after all.”

“Oh but Draco darling. You see, my bouquet is so much bigger. Obviously Pots and I are friends. You two are just acquaintances.”

“He hates both of you,” Theo drawled just as Daphne jibed, “He probably just wants a pay raise.” The others burst into laughter, but Draco and Pansy kept at it, spitting words back and forth as they faced off in their matching panda slippers.

Harry most certainly didn’t look over at the blonde’s arse in those trousers, and was in no way startled when Blaise slithered behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Is that food?” He asked. Harry noted that he got a haircut, shaving down the sides of his afro and shearing a bit off the top. It was just as wild, reminding Harry of one of Neville’s ivy plants that curled and twisted over itself on a wall of the shop.

“Yeah, I made some lasagna and I thought-,”

Before Harry could finish, Blaise rolled up the sleeves of his turtleneck and snatched the tray, speed-walking into the kitchen with it in tow. Daphne hardly had the time to sputter out a “You cook Potter?” before Theo threw her off his lap, running to the kitchens as if hellfire were lapping at his ankles.

“You might want to pop it in the oven for a little bit,” Harry called weakly. He was nearly knocked over by Millicent Bustrode and the Greengrasses as they barreled past him. Pansy set him right, pulling him into the kitchen after the others.

     A circular table, covered in a pure white tablecloth, sat in the middle of the room, surrounded by petulant adults. Blaise was first in line, cutting out a reasonable piece with a certain slow elegance. The rest weren’t so uncouth as to try to dig out their own slices at the same time, like Ron and Teddy would’ve, but their impatience was obvious in the way their brows twitched or mouths set into a thin line.

“I don’t use the oven,” Pansy said, pulling him past the crowd. To prove her point, she pulled at the steel bar to reveal two racks of heels.

“I’m afraid I’m not much of a cook,” She sniffed. “But there’s no point in wasting space now is there?”

“I’m sure that’s a fire hazard.”

“I’m not afraid to die,” She said it with ease, and the others snickered, as if it were a running joke amongst them. Reaching into a black cabinet, she pulled out a wine glass and set it into his hand, fingers brushing his for a moment too long.

    Hoisting up the blender, she poured a liquid, plum in color and thick in consistency, into the glass until it reached midway. She refilled her own glass, and Malfoy’s as he strutted in, then set it on the granite counter. When Malfoy did the same, Harry set his next to hers. Pansy crouched to get into her fridge, fiddling for a moment before she emerged victorious with whipped cream.

She grinned as she topped all three of their glasses, not stopping till she hit the rim.

“Toast boys,” She said, hoisting up her glass. “To an amazing Fall Show.”

     The sip Harry took was sweet. The distinctive taste of cherries and alcohol mixed with the lofty cream, flowing down his throat with ease, save for how cold the drink was. It was an odd mix but he liked it. Feeling eyes on him, he turned to find Malfoy staring. The man didn’t turn away, grey eyes betraying nothing as his tongue darted out to catch a spot of cream on his upper lip.

Before Harry could determine how to react to that, Daphne snatched him away, pulling him down to sit and eat with the rest of them.

“You don’t understand how grateful we are,” She hiccupped in the middle of the sentence, but she seemed sincere enough. Her baby blue eyes went wide as she looked up at him adoringly.

“It wasn’t a big deal.”

“We were all starving.”

“It really wasn’t any trouble.”

“Draco wouldn’t let us order take-out. He said it was for commoners.”

“That’s...an unusual thing to say.”

“Harry, we haven’t had a home-cooked meal in months. I’ve gone from a size 6 to a size 2. Which would be alright if it weren’t due to- I don’t know- freaking malnourishment.”

     The rest of them nodded in unison. Millicent, a full figured woman with a wicked, short black undercut, went as far as to say that he was a blessing upon this house. Which of course, led to Draco and Theo vehemently denying it, drowning out the comment with all stories of Harry’s faults.

“He’s so clumsy too. Remember when you knocked over the suit Cho Chang worked on for a solid month Potty? Because I do. I remember that day like it was the worst day of my life. Because it was.”

“That’s nothing compared to the time he literally waltzed in here telling us all he was a high fashion model when he was really a mechanic. Nothing like dumb luck and blatant deception right Potter?”

     He felt the tips of his ears heat up, and he was thankful that his blush wouldn’t show. He tried to relax his features into that of amusement. Taking a long swig from his glass, he eyed Draco over the rim as the blond continued to reduce his ego to smithereens. No one spoke to him like this. Something brewed in his gut with each disparaging remark. It was a feeling all at once elated and embarrassing.

“So,” He crooned lowly. Sneaking one last glance at Malfoy, he leaned conspiratorially over to Daphne and Astoria. “Can you ladies tell me more about this denim jacket story? Especially the part about setting it on fire.”

     The undignified squawking that followed was nearly drowned out by resounding laughter. Theodore clapped a hand on his shoulder as he passed, encouraging them all to move to the parlor.

     And that was how the night continued. Harry heard the denim jacket story for the second time, and along with that the story of how Malfoy managed to get lost in the middle of a shopping mall in France, forcing him to call his mother weeping. (“Well that’s normal for a child.” “Potter this was last year.”) The number of embarrassing stories surrounding the man never seemed to end. They made a game of it, going around in a circle telling the worst of the tales, forced to drink if their own didn’t bring about the most laughter.

The best one, Harry believed, was when Pans revealed that the two were as thick as thieves as children, bonding over their mutual love for an American girl band called the Pussycat Dolls.

“I swear, whenever we visited Daphne in New York we went to their show. I used to make him do all of the dances with me,” She drawled. She had thrown her legs over Harry’s sometime around 2, and did not show any inclination to remove herself. Her head rested in Draco’s lap, forcing the two of them to sit next to each other unless they wanted to behead her. “He still remembers all of them.”

“I do not,” He protested, but it was without fire as he tilted his head back in resignation. Grasping onto Pansy’s thread of conversation, Blaise stood, singing out in an exaggerated falsetto,

“Loosen up my buttons baby,”

     Daphne went into hysterics, clutching hands with her sister as they pushed for the two to do it. Once the idea was in the air, it took off, and soon they had their own steady chant. Pansy sat up, reveling in the attention. Soon enough she straightened her spine and rose to her feet, looking every bit the queen Harry believed her to be as she glanced about, tipping her pug nose in the air. After a few seconds of fiddling on her phone, the speakers blasted the song of her choice. To his credit, Draco only groaned once before rising. He bowed. She curtsied. And together they proceeded to indulge in one of the most scandalous performances Harry had ever witnessed.

     Even while drunk, they were in sync, twisting and kicking out with an impressive precision considering the three bottles of Merlot shared between the two of them. Malfoy lost his mask of embarrassment within the first minute, smile breaking out across his face as the two dropped to ground to slowly slide up. He looked younger with his hands in the air, delicate yet quick, feet moving to the thumping beat. Laughing wildly, he positively glowed as he spun about, looking Harry in the eye until the music faded, and there was only white noise. For a moment, everything seemed to fade but him. Him and the rosy flush spreading across his cheeks, the way his bottom lip swelled under the pressure of white teeth, and the fire in his hands as they grabbed his wrists, pulling with a strength so sure and urging.

    They danced. All of them. A full blown dance party of eight in a high-class flat overlooking Sin City. Somewhere between the Cupid Shuffle and the Macarena, Harry found himself dazedly realizing that this was what his life was supposed to be. This was what Ron and Hermione and Luna and Rolf had, the freedom to make new friends and spend time away from each other. He’d never known anyone other than his set group. But then, looking up at Theo’s horrible attempts at a two-step as Daphne keeled over in laughter, he realized that he wanted to. Badly.

    So later, when they all collapsed into an exhausted heap, he began the conversations, whispered, hushed things that crept into the night to be forgotten by morning. The music had faded into old indie rock songs that only Millicent and Pansy knew the words to. They sang their hearts out, Astoria ever the supportive audience, as Theo and Daphne went outside for ‘a smoke’. Draco expressed a desire for tea, allowing Blaise and Harry to slip into the kitchen after him.

“My parents would’ve loved something like this. My godfather told me they threw little get-togethers all the time.” Harry said, letting the steam from his mug fog his glasses. The liquid was a deep rouge. Pansy only had herbal teas, and Harry had a fondness for something raspberry. He let his words simmer for a moment, and was about to open his mouth to add more when Blaise cut in.

“My mother likes these kinds of things to. There’s nothing she likes more than a good party.”

     There was something bitter in his tone, but his eyes betrayed nothing as they roved over the newspaper. Draco snorted by the microwave. He jabbed at buttons, seeming to hope it would work by sheer willpower, till it finally started up.

“My father would be appalled.” He said. He didn’t turn to them.

“Is he still-?”

“Yes. He’s still alive. Not as good looking as he would hope to be, but he’s still breathing,” He shrugged. “Between you and me, I would prefer my corpse to look like the cover of Vogue, but to each his own.”

“Sorry about your parents though Potter. I heard the story. They were good people.”

He wanted to ask how he found out, but immediately the wrinkled, awe-struck face of Gertrude popped into his head.

“ ‘s not your fault.”

“They had so much to offer, and Lily Evans was truly iconic from what I-.”

“But what does that word mean?”

He had his food now, seated at the other head of the table looking every bit like he belonged there. At the sound of the word, he set down his fork.

“What makes someone an icon? What is truly iconic?”

“Something original,” Harry found himself saying. “Something no one else has done before. You’re an icon when you’re confident enough to take a risk and be unconventional. Whenever I hear about my parents, it’s always about how brave my father was or how my mother came up with ingenious ideas to help the town. I think the fact that they’re remembered for that says it all.”

He shrugged as Draco stared. The other’s gaze was too intense, too openly focused on him for Harry to be comfortable. A sober Draco wouldn’t let him see how seriously he considered the words, as if he cared for Harry’s input.

“I’d have to disagree with you. It’s not always taking a risk. It’s being distinctive. To put it in fashion terms, trends come and go and come back again. You need to pay attention to what’s in season, but work with it to make sure your take on the current trend stands out. For example, the kitten heel is back in. I can’t claim originality on the concept of the kitten heel, but I can switch up how it’s made, how its shaped. Give it something that lets everyone know this is a Zabini kitten heel. Not just something you can pick up from your local shop.”

He looked to Draco as sternly as he could with tea droplets in his chin scruff.

“You have three very different muses who are all original in their own right. Take that originality and make it fashion. Choose which trends to break and keep, and make the trends you want yours. You’ve got the mind Draco. There’s no reason why this won’t work.”

     Harry was late to realize the expression crossing the man’s face as insecurity. It didn’t flatter him. His features were sharp as is. Distress emphasized it to a point where it was distasteful. Harry ached to help, to squeeze his hand or smooth out the furrow in his brow. He clenched the knee of his jeans to fight the urge. Luckily enough, Pansy swooped in a minute or two later, begging Blaise to sing with them. He went without protest, casting Draco one final look before disappearing.

Malfoy’s face didn’t lose its creases. He frowned, petulant, forking at the lasagna with a dazed melancholy.

“You should come to mine on Saturday for brunch,” Harry blurted suddenly. At this, the man gave a start, arching a brow in a manner all too familiar. (Relief flooded Harry’s senses, making his fingers tingle.)

“...No? Potter, by all means, tell me why on Earth I would deign to spend my Saturday morning with you.”

“Out of all of them, you need actual food the most. You look like a stick.”

“Jealous of my high metabolism? You’re trying to fatten me up.”

He still looked reluctant so Harry tried to sweeten the deal.

“I can make a mean stack of pancakes.”

Malfoy swallowed, glancing down at his food, then back up to Harry for a few moments. When his shoulders sagged, Harry knew he was victorious.

“If it’s not up to par, I’m firing you.”

“You would never.”

Malfoy chose not to respond, fringe hiding his expression as he bent his head over his food. Harry’s heart practically sang when he saw the other’s ears tinge red.

It got even better later. As Pansy gracefully kicked everyone out of her home, the two lagged behind the pack.

“Noon on Saturday yeah?”

Draco nodded, eying the motorcycle with visible distaste, and the faintest tinge of curiosity. Harry threw him a beaming grin, white teeth flashing, and rode off before Pansy’s intrigued look turned into an interrogation.


	4. Les Vetements

IV. Les Vêtements

            The rest of the week passed by quickly. His life became a balancing act as both his personal life and work became more strenuous. The closer they came to Friday, the more frantic the House of Malfoy had become. A mandate from the head himself pushed run-throughs up to Monday morning rather than the following Thursday, forcing designers, petites-mains, and stylists alike to push themselves to their breaking point. More than once, Harry found Theo bringing Daphne down from a panic attack.

            Pansy still made sure her outfits were flawless, but she had taken to wearing sunglasses to hide her eyes. Everyone was sure she hadn’t slept since early Thursday morning, when they had gotten the email notification. She was particularly bitchy when fatigued, and had no trouble snapping at whoever crossed her. Her usual banter with Harry died down into uncivilized grunts and hand gestures. When she got him out of bed to come into the studio at 3 A.M, he at least had the good sense to bring her a cup of coffee and those biscuits she liked. Then when Theo snatched him away from her at 5, smelling strongly of cigarettes and internal despair, he knew better than to comment on the stubble on the man’s face.

He saw Blaise passed out on the floor by a pile of shoes. He saw Cho and another girl (Angelina?) have a vicious argument over a sewing needle before trying to rip it away from each other. He even saw petite, delicate Astoria cussing out the refrigerator. The worst of it all was when he caught Gertrude having a conversation with a suited mannequin, blushing, giggling and swatting her hands at it. As soon as she called it ‘James’, his feet were steering himself away before he could think.

            The only one he hadn’t seen was Malfoy. No one had. They all told him not to worry about it, as apparently the blonde had gone two solid weeks without leaving his office in past seasons and had no qualms about doing it again. Harry admired the dedication, even found a bit of himself in the act, but he couldn’t help but wince as he imagined the telling off he’d get from Teddy if he did the same.

            He practically on route to returning to his old ways though. He had seen his godson a total of half an hour in the past two days. Hermione was testy since he missed dinner 3 times in a row, and he hadn’t had the heart to text her that he might miss Saturday’s too. Luna did it for him, as she had told Hermione that his evening would be _‘an ultimate factor in determining the direction of the cosmos’_.

           He was at least thankful that his garage was still running. Seamus and Dean were the best colleagues he could ask for. Not once did he have to worry about popping in to check on them. He still made sure to make a mental note to invite them over for a pint or two. If, that is, he was allowed to eat. Both designers were on his case about his measurements. Each and every time Pansy caught him trying to smuggle something that wasn’t a vegetable, she threw it, quite literally, out of the window. (“Ah yes. Defenestration.” Blaise had mumbled when Harry called to complain. “Quite a fond past time of hers. I remember when we were in Switzerland and she threw out a whole dining table because her steak was served wrong. She’s more of a monster when she’s tired. Constant vigilance Pots.”)  Theo wasn’t physically violent, but had this way of tilting his head and staring him down whenever a zipper had trouble coming up.

And it wasn’t like Harry wasn’t fit. He wasn’t one to brag, but, as one of the best players on the local football team, he was pretty trim. He gave up a gym day since the fashion house demanded so much of him. But, when Theo’s gaze reduced him to smoldering shame for the fifth time in the span of one hour, he resolved to find time to start going again. 

            All in all, by the time Saturday came around, he was ready to enjoy a stress free weekend with his mates. He had beers lining the fridge, more than enough crisps in the cabinet, and no high-strung designers ready to throw his food on unsuspecting strangers. He even allowed himself to sleep until 11, a luxury he rarely allowed himself.

It was around 11:05 when he got the text from Adrian Pucey, the assistant schedule secretary to Tracey Davis, the actual schedule secretary, that Malfoy would be there twelve sharp, which truly meant 12:15 as Malfoy was a staunch believer in keeping people waiting for him.

It was around 11:10 that Harry finished freaking out enough to call down Teddy and explain the whole situation.

“The whole house needs to be _immaculate_. He’s super posh-,”

“How posh are we talking?”

Harry gave him a look. “He grew up in _Wiltshire.”_  

“Great Godric, he’ll hate me then.” Teddy gave him cheeky grin. “Can I turn my hair blue for the occasion? I’ll just go full on rocker, yeah? Scandalize the hell out of him.” 

The thought gave way to shared snickers, but as he rather wanted Malfoy to like him, Harry forced himself to shake his head.

 “Clean up. Then call Ron or Luna and see if they can make eggs, sausage and maybe a fruit salad within the hour. If Hermione answers the phone, then hang up. Then see if Neville can get a bouquet over here.”

            The boy gave him a salute, and they set to work. Luna was over in a half hour, helping him set the table and throwing advice over her shoulder with a voice of wind chimes. Her sunflower dress swayed in the wind of the open windows as she set down her bowl of cut up fruits.

“Ron will be here soon. You’ll want to offer him to opportunity to stay, but you have to decline. In fact, go take a shower. Have Teddy take the sausages and shut the door in his face. Draco will be here in 35 minutes.”

Harry didn’t have to be asked twice. He pressed a kiss to her cheek, thanking her for the help, and as she drew back he saw that the violet had almost completely taken her blue eyes. She stroked his cheek.

“You won’t mess this up. In every alternate reality I’ve seen, this day plays out the same way.”

            He wanted to ask her more, but Teddy was already bounding down the steps. Trusting his godson to take care of things, he moved to get ready.

            Warm from the shower and thoroughly lathered in one of Sirius’ old fancy lotions, he threw on a jumper and some jeans, deciding only at the last minute to slip on his house shoes. Teddy was lingering in the kitchen, reaching for a piece of bacon only to dart away when Harry appeared.

           Before a reprimand could leave his mouth, the doorbell rang. He got it after the second ring, and in strode Draco Malfoy, gray fur coat draped over his shoulders. His legs extended from the folds, long and painted black, as his dark riding boots came to a pause in the middle of the foyer. His blonde hair was as neat as usual. Slicked back platinum strands tickled his neck, increasing the severity of his look as his darker brows furrowed over his sunglasses. Cellphone tilted in his gloved hand, away from his face, he spoke in that chilling, threatening way of his and Harry immediately felt his heart go out to whoever was on the line.

“No. No. Definitely not. I don’t care. Fix it. Call the airlines and make sure the flights are in order. Then make sure Stefani gets a _personal_ invitation to the show. None of the generics. Hand write it. Tell Diggory that I want the music selections finalized tonight and the details for the after party need to be in the black book. Then make sure no one’s sleeping in storage. It’s uncouth. If they want to sleep that bad, then there’s a lovely man on the corner of 7 th and Prewitt that can help them get over it.  I’ll be back by half past 3 and I fully expect a flat white and vanilla biscotti on my desk upon my return.”

Ending the call with a flick of his finger, he stuffed the phone in the folds of his pocket. He stood for a moment, looking about with careful neutrality. When his eyes came to rest on Teddy, however, he paused.

“I didn’t know you had a son Potter.”

“Oh, yeah, he’s-.”

“Yes! Hello, my name’s Edward, but everyone calls me Teddy.” The teen grinned wickedly, now green eyes glinting with mischief as he rushed to shake Malfoy’s hand. “Dad doesn’t talk about me all that much. I suppose it’s too hard to bring up in proper company. He had me when he was 15, and my mum buggered off. It’s just us two now."

“He’s joking,” Harry said quickly, trying to separate the two, but Malfoy refused to let go, looking the teen over.

“That shirt looks rather familiar.”

“Oh this? Yeah, it’s one of my favorites. I got it from this place called _‘Prefect’s Club’_ in London. The whole collection was made by this totally radical designer named-,”

“Pansy Parkinson.” Draco finished. “She works for my fashion house. Absolutely brill isn’t she?" 

            When he saw Teddy’s jaw drop out of total admiration, Harry knew he was in trouble. Sure enough, the two were as thick as thieves all throughout brunch, chatting like two old friends rather than mere acquaintances. Teddy was never one to talk about fashion, but he seemed to know Pansy’s entire background, including which countries she had worked in and where she went to school.

“She considered branching off into hair styling at one point didn’t she?” Teddy inquired, stars in his eyes.

“She held onto to notion for far too long,” Draco tittered. He cut his pancakes into tiny, precise squares before eating them. Harry thought it was adorable. “We were in Zimbabwe when the obsession started. Spring ’12 collection I believe. That was back in the early days.”

“What would you have done, if not fashion?” Harry found himself asking. The blond chewed, prolonging the break in conversation so he could think. He had taken off the glasses, an obnoxiously expensive pair of Tom Ford ray bans, which left his face open for view. His fatigue showed in his eyes, lined with circles so dark they were violet, but there was a light within his gaze as he came upon a thought.

“I would travel,” He said softly. Harry glanced down at the smile that tugged at his lips, and was unable to bring his gaze back up. “I want to see the _world_. Really live in the thick of it. I have offices all over the place, but I never get to appreciate the countries I’m in. I want to get to know the people. Get to know the language, the music, the culture.”

 Coming back to himself, he sniffed haughtily.

 “Of course, I’ll be having whirlwind affairs the whole time until I die in my lover’s arms at the tender age of 35 after a tragic boating accident in Mediterranean Sea. They’ll have no choice but to bury me in _Saint Laurent_ at my vineyard in Tuscany and hopefully Pansy would have enough good humor to ensure that they serve champagne and sweets at my funeral. Astoria will make a lovely speech about my noble character, then Theo and Blaise will ruin it all by telling everyone the _‘Cambridge Story’-_ ,”

“What’s the Cambridge story?”

“I’m not going to sully your young mind. Anyway, Daphne will make sure the guest list and seating is impeccable so there will be no brawls and _no press_ as my darling lover,”

His eyes flicked up at Harry.

 “And our two dogs, purebred Siberian Huskies, cry over my dead body, only to be comforted by our son and my sole heir. Cedric will serve as a lovely DJ and my funeral will turn into the party of the century. Even Paris’ soirees wouldn’t compare.”

            Unsure of how to respond to that, Harry shared a look with Teddy and they both burst out laughing. Draco dabbed at his lip, hiding his smirk.

“That’s really the only other way my life could’ve gone.” He protested. “There’s nothing else for me.”

            Brunch went without much of a hitch. At some point, Harry had the opportunity to clarify that no, Teddy wasn’t his son but his godson, which led to some awkward questions about why they looked so similar. All in all, however, they had a good time.

            Too good of a time, it seemed, as Harry batted away another one of Teddy’s questions. The teen was obsessed. As soon as Malfoy left, his hair turned a blinding shade of blonde. He was just lucky he hadn’t slipped up during brunch.

“He was so cool Harry. I thought he was going to be a total arse, but he was just so-!” He made a disgruntled noise that couldn’t be interpreted to mean anything, let alone an adjective. “And did you see that coat? I wish I owned that coat. Bloody hell, I wish I _was_ that coat. You two are close right? Tell him to get me one. And those boots-,”

The man rolled his eyes, chuckling softly as he sent Pansy a text, asking her to pass along the message. 

**‘So you don’t invite me to brunch, but you want me to do your dirty work.’**

**_‘It wasn’t like that.’_ **

He scowled when a miniature hand flipping him the bird appeared on his screen.

“Are you two dating? Is that why he was so relieved when you said I wasn’t your son-son?”

His scowl deepened. He turned in his chair to respond, but then his cell buzzed. Teddy’s flighty skinny fingers snatched it up before he could protest.

“ _Never mind that. I need you tonight_ -. Oh my god! Oh my god, you _are_ dating. Yes! Maybe if we’re lucky, he’ll introduce us to-.”

“Check the name Ted.”

The teen did, frowning in confusion.

“Pans? Who’s-?" 

“Pansy Parkinson.”

“You’re _shagging_ Pansy Parkinson? Does Draco know? Is that why he looks at you the way he does?”

Harry froze. Slowly, he turned towards Teddy, who was trying to punch in a passcode with an almost manic haste. He tried to calm the swelling of his chest, and bit out. 

“Looks at me how?”

“Like you’re some kind of god,” The kid snorted. “Like you hang the sun in sky. He probably thinks you’re unattainable which is rubbish because you’re _nothing_ compared to him. I mean, good god man, did you see that _coat?_ Can you, um, unlock your phone so I can propose to Ms. Parkinson?”

He shot his godson a look. Teddy at least had the sense to look chastised.

“So I can tell Ms. Parkinson how much I respect her and her work.” He corrected, handing over the device.  Harry accepted it in a heartbeat.

“He really looked at me like that?” He asked a minute later, phone secure in his pocket. From the sink, the teen threw him a disgruntled glare.

“I lied. He looked at like you were beneath him, like you were the worst of the worst, a dream-crusher who picks on kids.” 

Harry hummed to himself, smile wide as he left Teddy’s grumbling behind him.

* * *

As luck would have it, Draco evidently told Pansy all about brunch, because she called him around 4, asking for both him and Teddy to make the trip downtown.

_“Only for an hour or four darling. You know we’re in a time crunch.”_ Her sweet, manipulative tones contrasted with Teddy’s ecstatic whoops and screeching in the background. In the end, Harry had no choice but to concede, and was soon speeding down streets with his godson clutching at his waist. 

            He didn’t have much of a say when they reached the studios either. They all swarmed around Teddy like bees to honey, cooing over him as if he were a babe. The teen didn’t mind at all. In fact, he was absolutely ecstatic when Pansy appeared, arm in with Theodore. She regaled him with a custom black hoodie, and laughed aloud when Teddy abandoned speech in favor of blushing and stuttering.

“He looks just like you Potter,” Theo said.

“Yeah we, uh, we get that a lot.”

            The man stood next to him, watching as Daphne dug her hands into the boy’s hair. From the corner of his eye, Harry could make out the hint of a smirk on Nott’s side profile. His dark eyes shifted over to Harry for a beat or two, then slowly regarded the scene before them once again. 

“You know, I could use him for the show _. He could walk next to you_.” Nott said it loud enough for Teddy to perk up. “It suits the legacy theme. I think it screams ‘ _Sins of the father’._ Or maybe it could signify a passing of the baton. Either way, I’d _love to have Teddy in the show_.”

Harry knew he had done it on purpose. From the way his grin turned wicked as Teddy zipped through the crowd, he had gotten exactly what he wanted. He tried to decline, but the two double-teamed him, his godson begging incessantly as the man gave a steady tirade of reasoning.

He had no choice but to agree. He made sure not to look happy about it though. As the team spent the better part of two hours flying around Teddy with fabrics, needles and color swatches, he sat back, face as cross as his arms.

“Lighten up Pots. It’ll be cute,” Pansy tried to lower his walls by lying on his shoulder and batting her eyes but he did not sway. His mouth remained in a firm line even as she hooked her arms around his waist and squeezed, shaking him like a rag doll. Still finding him unfazed, she opened her maw to surely give him a piece of her mind, when a sudden hush fell over the backroom.

            The door swayed against the wall, tapping the plaster twice before settling, giving way to a woman more goddess than human. She was as pale as the moon, gliding with the regality and poise of a celestial being. A dark trim of goose feathers encircled her neck, thick cloak of black furs cascading to the floor in a resounding crescendo. Her hair mingled with it, wisps of insipid, dying sunbeams curling slightly at her shoulders. High cheekbones made her face thin and shrewd, an eternal tug of war between distaste and mischief playing at her lips. Gray eyes slowly made their rounds about the room, before they stopped, narrowing significantly as distaste gave a victorious tug. A leather-gloved hand was raised, the index finger pointed at Theodore.

 “You ungrateful scum.”

He gulped, darting away as quick as he could, but she gave chase, walking with a sense of self-assured calm but still unreasonably quick considering her heels. She toppled mannequins with a swish of her robe, stating all the while,

“I welcome you into my home. I clothe you. I feed you, and _this_ is how you repay me? I don’t believe I asked you for the world, Theodore.”

The man stumbled over Pany’s outstretched foot. Crawling on his hands and knees, she had him backed into a corner. She stared down at him. unwavering, and Harry himself got chills.

“I remember exactly what I said. _‘Do give me a ring when you get home darling.’_ Right there. In my foyer when I was helping you get your coat- A gift from the Burberry 2010 collection-and pushing food my cook slaved _hours_ over into your hands so you would have something to eat this week. I’ve treated you as my own son Theo. The least you could do is give me a call when you get home so that I know you’re safe. Or, is that presumptuous of me?”

“No Mrs. Malfoy.” The man squeaked. Daphne had to hide her snickers behind her hand before the woman- _Malfoy’s mother_ , Harry realized-turned upon the rest of them.

       She looked upon them all with condescension, respectfully nodding at Astoria and Pansy, giving Daphne the stink eye, and Blaise casual indifference. When she hit Harry, however, her whole face seemed to light up, looking at him like a leopard about to give chase.

       Before she could open her mouth to speak, her son strode in, black suit neatly pressed and hair slicked back. He eyes looked better than they did that morning, which Harry would credit more to the skills of the makeup department than anything else.

      Mother and son shared an embrace, kissing each other’s cheek before chattering in rapid French, arms intertwined. Theodore took this chance to move to grab Teddy, but the woman caught the movement. Mrs. Malfoy regarded the boy, a look Harry couldn’t decipher crossing her face, before she looked to him once more. She smiled, and it was probably the most terrifying thing he had ever witnessed.

_‘Metamorphagus’_ she mouthed, and his blood went cold.

 “I know she seems scary,” Pansy was whispering into his ear. “But she’s really nice. I promise. She’ll love you...”

Harry hardly heard her. All he could focus on was the slow, intent way the woman strode towards him.

“You must be Mr. Potter,” Her voice was a cold gust of wind, effectively cutting off whatever Draco was going to say next. The man looked from his mother to Harry, before his eyes went wide. He tried to pull her away, going on about what he wanted to show her, but she raised a hand, silencing him once more, before extending it for Harry to take.

He was going to shake it, but Pansy jabbed him in the side, forcing him to keel over and press it to his lips instead.

 The woman smiled, pleased as the cat who got the cream.

“I’m Draco’s mother.”

“Pleased to meet you Mrs. Mal-.”

“You will call me Narcissa.” She left no room for dispute. “ I’m terribly glad you agreed to help my darling Draco. He talks about you all the time you know.”

“Mother-!” The man started indignantly. Harry tried to meet his gaze, but he turned away, ears a bright red.

“He...he does?”

“Oh but of course! Every single day-what with your eyes and lovely smile. And-oh yes!-those _arms_ of yours. You’re a mechanic, is that correct? It really does pay off. You were right darling!” 

She squeezed Harry’s bicep for good measure.

“So firm,” She sighed. “Reminds me of your father’s.”

Behind her, Blaise and Daphne were in silent hysterics, on their hands and knees pounding the tiles as tears streamed from their eyes. Pansy-the traitor-went to join them, miming the scene with Astoria, before faking passionate kissing.

 “Um, thank you?”

“Come Mother. You need to view the collection before we send it off to Paris.”

             Draco dragged her away, leaving Harry to the wolves. Thankfully, there was too much work to be done for them to linger about, so the Greengrasses hooked arms with Harry as Theo took Teddy away.

            The sisters didn’t say much about the incident, rambling on and on about the approaching run-through instead. Astoria complained about her curls going limp from neglect as her sister began to rattle off the number of models she still had to sit down and work with before the next day.

            Once in the hair department, Daphne sat him down in her wash chair, throwing a cape over his body and towel around his neck.

“Marcus Flint is expected to fly in tonight around midnight.” She said, scrubbing shampoo into his hair. “Lord knows why he waited until the last flight out of Rio.”

“You know he is...wild boy. Party animal.”  Astoria replied absently.

“Yeah, but-.” Harry couldn’t hear this bit, water running over his ears as fingers massaged into his scalp. “...y’know? I mean, it’s gotten to the point where I’m worried about him. And, like, I totally don’t believe in worrying about other people.”

“Well, as long as he’s safe about it.”

“I don’t even how he manages to pick up random guys in the street. Like, I know he says he can _sense_ it, but gaydars definitely don’t exist." 

Daphne gave a snort, once again pulling Harry’s hair underwater.

“...Yes they do.” Astoria was arguing when he came back up. Daph let him towel his hair off, crossing her arms as they had a stare off.

 “No. No they don’t. Listen sissy. It’s impossible to ever be completely sure that someone swings that way unless they tell you." 

“But, like, you can kind of tell. At least, 60% of the time.”

“Yeah, no.”

“Um, no, yeah?”

Their accents came out full force when they argued. Interested, Harry paid rapt attention as they went back and forth, throwing in unfamiliar slang and anecdotes as they struggled to prove their points. 

“Remember Uncle Luce? Uncle Gideon shared an apartment with him in Soho, and every time we left you could _tell_.”

 “No you couldn’t. What the fuck? Astoria that’s not how it works.”

The conversation lagged as the hair stylist whipped out her hair dryer. She blew out Harry’s slight curls until they were rim-rod straight. The strands covered his brows now. He had meant to get a haircut a long time ago. He just never found the time or fuck to give.

            He watched her cut and snip with great care, golden scissors flashing as she moved this way and that. She adjusted the hairline on his neck with a razor, brushing away shorn strands as she cracked her gum.

“I mean, there’s no freaking way that people just _know_ it.”

“How else would Flint be able to pick up guys like he does then?” 

“I don’t know!”

The woman let out a shriek of annoyance, throwing her hands up. Her eyes met Harry’s in the mirror, and a determined furrow nestled in her brow.

“What do you think Harry?”

“Harry’s not gay!” Daphne protested. Sheepishly, the man smiled.

“I’m bi actually.” He admitted. Daphne’s hands froze, and for a moment Harry was struck with the fear that always came after exposing himself to others. But then he looked up to find the sisters sharing matching smirk.

 “Oh,” Astoria said, eyes never leaving her sisters. 

“Is that so?” Daphne said, teeth gleaming.

                       Without another word, the two ran out of the room, leaving Harry in the chair. He couldn’t leave with half of his hair cut. He looked like a fool. Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait long before someone entered the room. Unfortunately, that person was Narcissa Malfoy, and he could only pray the barber’s cape hid his arms enough that the thought of accosting him wouldn’t cross her mind.

             She sat in the chair next to him, designer handbag set on her lap.

“A metamorphagus child, how quaint,” She sighed. “I wonder...but no, of course not. How do you cope with it? He must get rather rowdy.”

“How do you know-?”

“Please,” She waved the question away. “Medeis is one of the few places left in Britain connected to the old magicks. My family traces its roots here, darling. It’s only natural I know everything about what this place _is.”_

Her smile turned bitter. 

“The magic line in my family has grown weak, and to my misfortune, I carry no link to it. Nor did Bellatrix. Which left my darling sister Andromeda.” 

“You know Andy?”

Her eyes twinkled. Adjusting her coat, she nestled into the feather down as she really took a look at Harry, lioness eying her prey.

“It seems that your godson is my sister’s grandson. Which makes him my nephew, and Draco’s cousin. From what I hear, they picked you off the street. Funny how we all managed to end up here isn’t it?”

“Does Draco know?” 

“No,” For some reason, this gave Harry relief. Her eyes narrowed, and he knew she noticed the relaxation of his shoulders. “And it seems you realize that it’s for the best that he doesn’t.”

He said nothing, waiting for her to continue. For a moment, her face relayed her age, crow’s feet by her eyes tensing as her expression turned wistful.

“The old magick is dying out. The world carries on as if it never existed. I think, in this time, it’s more dangerous to have it than to not. I can’t even consider what the government would do to that boy if they knew he existed.”

Neither could Harry. It was a fear that gripped him every night. 

“And I know my dear son would go mad chasing these ‘fairytales’. He’s built so much. I’d hate for him to leave it all behind to go sifting through old family connections. He’s dragged our name out of the mud. The last eight years would be a waste if he sunk it all over again. And, I’m sure, you care about the boy enough to ensure that none of this wouldn’t happen.”

“Of course,” Harry found himself blurting. She raised brow, smile on her face as he felt his face getting warm.

“Uh, I...I mean, Draco, he’s...we..we’re,”

“I mean, we both care for our own respective sons, don’t we Mr. Potter?”

His face positively burned as he realized his blunder. Her grin widened, and he could almost see the blood as the lioness pounced upon her prey, maw snapping shut.

“Harry! Check it out yeah? I look like one of them blokes from Buckingham. I could do things like ‘ _play cricket with my colleagues’_ after school in this. Blimey, The Queen herself would take me in if she could. 

Teddy strutted in, moving his shoulders exaggeratingly, absolutely beaming in his suit. It was crisp thing, unfinished but nice nonetheless. The dark pants were rolled up at the bottom, undoubtedly due to unfinished hems, but it showcased the bright yellow socks he wore with his black oxfords. Suspenders strapped over his matching golden shirt, and Harry knew it was to be covered in a deconstructed pin-stripe jacket because he was fitted for the same outfit in red.

There was a swelling in his chest when he pictured how the scene would look like, how the world would see them. Gazing upon Teddy as he was crushed by Narcissa’s adoration, he wondered if this was the pride his own father felt looking down at him.

* * *

 

             Run-through was, without a doubt, one of the most stressful days of his life. He and Teddy had woken up at five, to get to the studios by 5:30, only to find out the run-through location wasn’t going to be at the atelier after all.

“Sorry love, but Draco believes it completely throws off the energy of the working rooms. He’d make us burn sage for days if we held it here.”

Pansy settled into the driver’s seat of her sports car, yanking her seatbelt on.

“A couple things,” She said when they were cruising down the highway. “Don’t speak to Draco. Don’t look him in the eye. If he says something, just do it. I don’t care if he asks you to start singing ‘God Save the Queen’. If he asks questions, they’re rhetorical. Don’t answer them.”

These words resounded in Harry’s mind as he stood in the middle of an old, abandoned warehouse, surrounded by his fellow models and designers rushing about. A draft came through and he sneezed, making the man next to him chuckle.

He turned, to find the model unabashedly staring. Pansy didn’t give him a proper shirt, leaving his tawny chest exposed under the light, save for a long, black cross necklace. A dark, baggy jacket covered his arms, shielding his hands as they went up to adjust the cowl around his head. 

There was something slick in the way he looked at Harry; a promise of mischief lurking in the depths of his dark eyes as his grin, shark-like, rose on his face.

“Is this your first time walking for Pansy?” He asked, voice a gravelly, baritone.

“This is my first time walking.”

The other snorted at that. “It shows. Don’t slouch, and you should be fine. Malfoy-that’s the big boss- doesn’t yell at the models as much as he yells at his designers.”

“That’s a relief.” It wasn’t relieving at all.

“My name’s Marcus. Marcus Flint.”

  Harry flicked his gaze at the outstretched hand, hiding any recognition of the name, as he accepted the gesture. Flint’s grip was strong as he tugged Harry towards him, grinning all the while.

“I’m Harry-,”

“Potter. Yeah, Gertrude told me all about you.”

      He was beginning to feel legitimate dislike for the woman when a chill settled over them. All at once, the room fell silent. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pansy strut down the line, hiding the shake in her hands by crossing them.

“At attention you two,” She whispered fiercely as she passed. Flint snorted, making her glare. As soon as her warning was given, however, the doors burst open, letting a fierce gust of cold air in. Malfoy strode in, fur coat and all, with a full crew behind him. They all wore huge sunglasses, hiding their expressions save for a disapproving draw of their lips. As one, they took seats in front of the row of models, crossing their legs and shuffling papers.

Harry watched as Draco took a long sip of coffee from his cup, gesturing for them to begin.

“ _Pansy Parkinson pour le division de Pret-A-Porter_.” Millie announced, clicking her pen against her red clipboard. “ _Son theme: Progressif.”_

       Pansy straightened her skirts, strutting in her heels as she came to the center of it all. Quickly, she fell into an explanation of her collection, speaking French so rapidly that Harry could hardly pick up on the cognates.

       When she finished, she gave a short bow and stood to the side. There was silence, as Draco perused, asking a question or two here or there, but otherwise simply looking. He stood, and no one moved to follow as he went through the line. He gestured Pansy over somewhere in the beginning of the line, pointing and explaining a sewing technique that might’ve fit better, removing his glasses to take a closer look.

“...very clean,” Harry heard him say as he got closer. “Every look fits the collection. You have so many looks but it isn’t repetitive. They’re all very exciting. The eye doesn’t get bored. Very efficient, and distinctive work.”

      There was a certain pride that took Harry, making the corners of his mouth tilt up. Flint caught sight of it, smirking himself as he took his hand, shaking it as he lightly intertwined their fingers in an odd attempt to get Harry to stop.

        It was at precisely this moment that Draco reached them. The man stilled, back going rigid, as he glanced down at their rapidly unraveling hands. There was a tension, before he snapped, making Pansy powerwalk to catch up. 

“There’s a discrepancy here.” He said, and his voice was the cold chill that drew fear. Barely above a nonchalant drawl, he slowly ripped into every hole he could find, drawing up new wounds where there previously were none. “It’s hideous, Parkinson. You really stopped caring at this point didn’t you? It looks like it. They don’t match at all. There’s a leap here and it’s not an attractive contrast at all.”

As they were both in all black and white, Harry failed to see what the hell Malfoy was talking about. He was about to say so when Pansy shot him a quelling look.

“What can I do to fix it?” She asked, and he hated how timid she sounded.  The blond made a faint noise of distaste, considering the two. He reached out, grasping Flint by the jaw and squeezed, twisting him this way and that.

“This one’s the famous one isn’t he? Mikey something?”

“I’ve walked for you for _years_ Malfoy-,” Harry heard the man whisper before the sound of skin against teeth cut him off.

“Send him to the front. Let him open the show. Keep this one here.”

Without a second glance, he turned on his heel. Pansy pointed Marcus away, expressionless. The model only shrugged, offering Harry a final wink before starting his procession. The dark-skinned model next to him shifted to take her new place without a word. 

Malfoy didn’t change anything else after that. Even when Theodore’s run through came about, he only listened and nodded, offering open-ended suggestions and advice instead of orders. 

“And then I think Teddy and Potter should walk together at the end. So it’s like the ‘Sins of the Father’ type of thing. Like, you know how Simba ends up resembling Mufasa at the end of that cartoon film? It would be along those lines.”

“I really have no idea what you’re talking about, but it seems like you do so I’m just going to say yes.”

Theodore absolutely beamed and Malfoy walked away with a final nod. As soon as his boss’ back was turned, however, he looked to Harry with a panic in his eyes.

“Listen Potter-," 

“Pots!” Pansy’s hand crept around his waist, pulling him towards her, making him witness the desperation in her eyes. “I have another look for you. You can do a change during the show, _oui_? You will be the one to walk me out. We’ll do a final bow together.”

“Parkinson! He’s already doing changes for _my_ show.”

“They’re on two different days Theo. No one will notice.”

The man glared, then turned to Harry. “You will do three changes for my show.”

“Theo you have enough-,”

“Three,” The man said. Before Pansy could retort, he was taking strides towards Daphne, who was already hard at work removing models’ makeup. She scowled, and went off to find another model.

“It’s because he likes you,” Harry jumped, whipping about to find Blaise behind him. The dark-skinned man didn’t flinch, staring blankly at the scene, eyes catching on the petite form of Astoria. “They think if you stand out enough in a show, he’ll like it more, and give that show a win.” 

Heat pricked at the back of his neck, threatening to take his cheeks as Harry muttered something about impossibility.

“Just stick to the path laid out for you Potter. If you stray from it, and do something... _uncouth_ , you’ll find that these violent delights have violent ends.”

His tone was nonchalant enough, but Harry couldn’t help but feel that he was being threatened. The tension between them felt all too real as they watched Draco drape an arm around Astoria’s shoulders as he conversed with Cedric Diggory about the lighting.

“So basically if I hurt him, you’ll kill me?” He asked. Blaise clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Smart man.”

Astoria waved their way. Ignoring the burning pain by his neck, Harry waved back.

* * *

 

             The warmth in his gut soon encompassed his whole body as he spread himself across the laps of those on the couch. Ginny’ fingers, long and calloused, were lost in his wild hair as Hermione’s arms were lax against his ankles. Seamus and Dean shifted, causing an odd bang of pain by his arse and spine, but he didn’t really mind it. The shepherd’s pie Seamus made sat heavy in his stomach, mingling with the resting ale to create heavy eye-lids and a blurry mind.

“I just don’t get it,” Harry said suddenly. “Why did he go after Pansy like that? And move Flint? Our looks went together.”

In the background, he could hear Ron groan aloud, petulant and almost at the point of tears. He didn’t care though. He had more important things to consider. Like why Malfoy was being a prick. Was he tired? Hungry? What was he doing right now? Did he have something to eat?

“That’s his bloody problem mate! Who cares if he hasn’t had supper?”

He didn’t realize he had spoken aloud. 

“Honestly,” Ron ran both his hands over his eyes. “If I hear about him one more time, I’m gonna lose it.”

“Hear, hear!” Dean said, raising a glass. The man, a rather tall bloke with a charming grin, shot Harry a look, dark eyes twinkling.

“You talk about him the way I used to talk about Seamus before I grew the balls to ask him out.”

Throughout the room, a series of groans and moans sounded out as they all recalled how utterly disgusting the two were, simpering about. Harry wrinkled his nose, taking another gulp of ale as if it could wash away the memory. Carefully, Ginny pried the glass away from him, scarlet hair falling in his face as she moved to put it on the table.

“You should confront him,” Hermione said, and she sounded so smart. Godric, Harry wished he were that smart. So, so smart was Hermione as she said that smartly. Smart.

“Text him,” Ginny urged. There was a twinkle in her hazel eyes. Harry learned to fear this glint early on.

“What do I say?”

“Just don’t mention cocks and you should be fine,” Seamus assured.

 “Unless he’s into that,” Dean added.

Hermione rolled her eyes, blowing a stray strand of curls out of her face.

“Just be blunt,” She said. As the only one with any common sense in the group, Harry decided to trust her judgement. Fingers slipping over the screen, he took a good two minutes to type out three letters.

**_‘Hey’_ **

“What is he doesn’t text back?” He groaned. His plight was met with Ron’s angry muttering and whispered giggles all around till his phone buzzed.

**‘Hey yourself.’**

Harry grinned, slipping off of his friends’ laps in favor of falling to the carpet. 

**_‘I hope you’re not still working.’_ **

**‘...’**

**_‘ Godric’s balls....Have you eaten at least?’_ **

**‘I had some crackers.’**

**_‘Nope, doesn’t count.’_ **

“Would it be weird if he came here?” Harry called out. “Can I invite him over?" 

“Hell no!”

“Hell yeah!”

“It’s your house, mate!” 

Not really caring what they had to say regardless, Harry quickly punched in the next statement, willing the humming of his heart to still.

**_‘Come over. We’ve got food and drinks. We don’t have Pansy’s wine slushies but Dean can make a mean sangria.’’_ **

**‘We?'**

**_‘My friends.’_ **

**‘Are you sure?’**

**_‘Yes. I want you to meet them. Or, you know, get reacquainted with two of them.’_ **

Harry pursed his lips, sensing the other man’s hesitation through the phone. As a final effort, he added,

**_‘So come over here before I drag you.’_**  

            Draco still didn’t respond. But that was alright. That wasn’t disappointment eating at his gut. No. He was fine. Harry was fine. He picked up a fresh butterbeer and downed it in one go, despite Ginny’s disapproving glare.

 He was in the middle of gearing up for yet another arm-wrestling tournament when the doorbell rang. Tripping over the carpet as he went to get it, he was brushed aside by Ginny, who was all toothy smirks and narrowed brows when she opened the door.

“Malfoy,” She said, in a cheery tone that most definitely did not match her expression. Harry brushed himself off, casting a look their way with wariness. Malfoy didn’t seem to recognize her at first, but then his eyes landed on her hair.

“Ginevra,” He said, and immediately Harry relaxed. “Glad to see it grew back.”

At once, Harry’s hand covered Ginny’s mouth, holding back the steady stream of curses and insults as he smiled brightly at his guest.

“We’re all in the parlor. You can take off your coat and put it anywhere.”

There was a brief flash of hesitation in the man’s face before he replaced the mask. He shed his furs, bundled up in a dark, green cashmere sweater and a scarf, then set to finding himself a wine glass. With a warning look at Ginny, Harry let her go, scowling, back to the couch.

“I'm happy you could make it,” He said later, getting a slice of pie onto a plate. Draco sniffed, but there was a hint of a smile playing at his lips that made Harry’s pulse quicken. The vibration of his phone pulled him away from the sight. Pansy’s name glared at him right above a text saying,

**_‘Glad to see you forgot my invite. Again.’_ **

**‘You’re always welcome to just come you know. In fact, I think he’d feel more comfortable if you were here.**

**_‘Hell no. Did you hear the way he ripped me a new one today? I’m more than happy to throw him into the lion’s den. Give him hell.’_ **

“So this is the famous Malfoy!” Dean was all smiles as he came forward, swarthy arm extended before him in greeting. “Pleasure to meet you mate. I’m Dean. I help Harry with the garage. We’ve heard a lot about you.” 

“Too much.” Seamus added, introducing himself as well. “You’re all he can talk about nowadays.”

“It’s a shame really,” Ron muttered darkly. Draco stopped, stared, expression betraying nothing save a cool nonchalance.

“Lovely to see you too Weasley.”

“The pleasure’s all mine.”

“Well, of course, it’s definitely not mine.”

The two began to bicker, in muted tones at first that quickly grew to venomous shouted statements between them and Ginny as Seamus and Dean hollered at them to continue.

“This is great! So much energy!” Harry exclaimed, struggling to be heard over the noise. Hermione pursed her lips, eyebrows furrowed as she wordlessly looked at him. He grinned, nodding to the faint music in the background as he took a seat next to her, watching his friends having the time of their lives. 

At one point, Hermione got them to quiet down by proposing that they play a friendly, competitive game to drown out any bad blood.

 “If Malfoy’s team wins, Ron and Ginny will apologize for their...rudeness.” The two grumbled, but one sharp look from Hermione ended their rants.

 “If Ron’s team wins, Malfoy will apologize for his,” She looked down at the notes on her hand, squinting as she read them off. “Blatant sexism, racism, the time he cut Ginny’s hair, xenophobia, internalized homophobia, the time he put worms in Ron’s applesauce during snack time, externalized homophobia, the time he called Ron a wanker in front of Lavender Brown. Oh, and, of course, he’s going to have to make a sizeable donation of 3,000 galleons to the IPPF. You know, just to make sure he’s _really_ sorry.”

 “Make him apologize for stealing Harry from us too,” Ron added. He and Malfoy continued to glare at each other, never once breaking eye contact. “He’s been acting like a lovesick idiot and it’s all your fault, you smug pillock.” 

At this, the man reddened. Before anyone could say anything else, Harry rushed forward, setting the board game on the floor. 

“Seamus, Dean, and Draco make up team one. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, team two.”

“No offense, but its 11 o’clock at night. If we start playing Monopoly now, we’ll be here till noon.”

 “Then what should-?”

“ _Scrabble_ -,” Draco and Hermione chorused. Catching themselves, they shared a look, narrowing their eyes and scowling.

      But it was this that decided it. Harry served as a referee, counting up points as the game went late into the night. Eventually, they began to lose players. Dean and Seamus were the first to rise, citing that they had to open up the garage early the next day. Ginny followed, as she had football practice in the mornings. Ron let Hermione take over, going to make himself a sandwich somewhere in the kitchen.

“Where is your son Potter?” Draco asked, not glancing up from the wooden squares.

“He wanted to go with my friend Luna to temple, so he’s probably at her place.” 

“You let him out till 3 in the morning?”

“Am I not supposed to do that?” There must’ve been something in his voice that quaked, because Hermione immediately turned to him, cooing reassurances. While her back was turned, Draco swiped a few of her pieces, replacing them with his unwanted ones. It would’ve worked, if Ron hadn’t caught sight of it and started screaming bloody murder.

      The game ended in a standoff, Ron and Hermione leaving with their noses held high and an aggrieved huff.  If Ron tossed a rude hand gesture back before slamming the door, the host certainly paid it no mind.

“They liked you,” Harry said brightly, clearing up glasses. Draco watched him, considered the motion for a moment, then rolled up his sleeves, carefully imitating Harry’s movements.

“I wouldn’t say that,” He said a moment later, voice so low Harry hardly believed that he heard anything.

“Ron and Ginny will come around.” He said, striding towards the kitchen “Give them time.” 

“Some things...shouldn’t be forgiven.”

At this Harry paused, setting the glasses in the sink so gently they hardly made a sound. Malfoy did the same, looking everywhere but at his host.

“You’re not like that anymore.” He was confident in this, more so than he had been about anything in his whole life.

“I am quite sure I’m still an asshole, Potter.”

“That’s not what I mean. You...you aren’t the same way you are when you were young. I’ve heard Ron’s stories and that kid-that self-satisfied condescending pig he used to know-that isn’t you. Granted, you are still self-satisfied and condescending,” Harry added in a rush when the other arched a brow.

 “Your past is important, but it’s your choices now that make you who you are. You choose who you want to be. It’s not chosen for you.”

The man didn’t say anything, but there was a light in his gray eyes that wasn’t there before. Slowly, he nudged Harry’s hand with his own, brushing up against each other until their fingers happened to interlock.

 “I have an early appointment tomorrow,” He said lowly, still avoiding eye contact as a pleased scarlet hue rose up his skin.

“Let me walk you to your car.”

      He nodded, smirk easing into a gentle smile as their hands swung back and forth. They had to release each other for Draco to get his coat on, but as soon as he finished, Harry grasped his palm once more, clutching it tight at his side as they braced the nighttime chill. There were no words exchanged when they reached the Mercedes. Draco made no move to get into it, leaning against the frame with his legs stretched out before him. He looked up at Harry, smirked, then looked away, staring at the stars above them with a mild interest.

“ _It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.”_ He said, amusement making his tone light. His lips were full, swept by a light stain of red from wine. The bottom one extended, grasping at a pout, whenever he let them settle. 

“Is that Yeats or something?” Harry mumbled. His hands were too hot. He placed them flat against the car, barely brushing Draco’s waist. The man laughed, a soft, breathy, tinkling sound reminiscent of church bells and wind chimes. 

“I’m surprised you know who Yeats is.”

“I know a lot of things.”

 His neck was warm. There was a blooming ache in his chest.

“Is that so?”

 Draco arched a brow, pulling his lips away from a smile with his teeth. Harry’s eyes traced the movement, want pulling him closer, till the scent of the other’s cologne filled his lungs.

“Yeah." 

“Yeah?”

Harry kissed him, impulsive, brash, and all too right.

“Yeah,” he mumbled against his lips, catching them once more with his teeth as he pulled and prodded the skin, hands wandering up his sides, drawing light patterns beneath the other’s sweater until a gentle, breathy gasp was drawn out. He grinned into the kiss, tongue gently swirling around, as Draco’s fingers nestled in his hair, scratching and grasping at the strands as he pulled him closer, till there was no space between them, warm despite the frigid air of the night. 

Harry withdrew, only to press a kiss against Draco’s neck, eliciting a gentle sigh when he bit and let his tongue run over the skin.

“Stay,” he demanded, breath hoarse as he looked down at violet patch he made. There was tense passing of a moment, filled with silent pleading and unhindered desire before gray eyes left his to look down the road. Then, a startled gasp. His eyes went wide as Draco’s face burst into a particularly frightful shade of puce. Harry followed his gaze to find Teddy, hair lit up a scarlet dark enough to match his blush, leaning over Luna’s stoop railing with his jaw agape. 

“Good Night Potter,” Draco squeaked. Harry hardly registered when got into his car and drove off, tires squealing in the distance.

 The two were left to simply stare at each other, till Luna came rushing through the front door clad in her bathrobe, green clay mask on her face as her blonde curls moved like snakes around her head. 

“Teddy! Don’t go over to-. Oh my stars. It seems like this one came rather late didn’t it?”

She looked between the two of them, violet eyes close to tears. Teddy coughed, crossing his arms behind his head as he analyzed the rose bushes below. 

“So...you _are_ shagging him?”


	5. La Mode

Harry was freaking the fuck out. His head throbbed with a jetlag induced ache so strong even espresso couldn't cure it. It wasn't just the grievances of travel that aggravated him. No, there was something greater.

Malfoy was ignoring him. 

It had been a solid week since they kissed and he still couldn't get the man to do so much as glance his way. They didn't share the same flight, but they saw each other at the airport. Hell, they even had the same hotel accommodations yet every time they were in the same room, the blond either sped out or resolutely avoided looking his way.

But he couldn't focus on that.

"Jesus! Stop moving Pots!"

Pansy's hands were shaking. He could see them quaking at his ankles as she struggled to get her fashion tape to stick. She let out a wail of frustration, tugging at his heart till he took her shoulders and dragged her up into a hug they both needed.

"It's fine," He murmured. "You'll be fine."

“You don’t understand Potter. His name is on this fashion show. One screw up from me and I’ll fuck up a brand he’s been working years to create. There’s a reason why the Malfoys aren’t associated with the BNP, and that’s this empire he’s built. He’s gone beyond his father. I’m not going to ruin this for him. I can't ruin this for him. I-I need Draco. I need- God, where is he?"

She let out a wail, clawing at his back. "Text him to get back here! He'll listen to you."

Judging from the ten messages left on 'read', Harry highly doubted it, but he did as she asked. She sniffled, waving her fresh manicure in front of her reddening face to dry her tears without ruining her makeup. 

He had to shove aside the pangs in his heart when he unlocked his phone, wincing at the previous 'Hey, how are you?' and 'Just checking in' s that went ignored.

'Pansy's looking for you.'

Good text. Simple text. Not at all desperate text. It removed himself from the equation entirely. There was no reason for Draco to ignore that, but Harry still felt a jolt of surprise when the gray bubbles popped up.

'This is how it has to be. I'm sitting front row. I trust her not to screw it up.'

"He, uh-," He tried clearing his throat, not meeting her eyes. "He says you need to do this by yourself."

"WHAT THE FUCK?"

(Needless to say, Pansy Parkinson did it by herself. And she killed it.)

The show passed in a blur of fabric, bright burning lights and wild applause. Harry walked as he always did, emboldened by the thought that Malfoy was forced to look at him then. He couldn't spot the blond, but he knew he was lingering around.

It was when he emerged to do the final bow with Pansy that he saw him. Malfoy hid his expression behind sunglasses, whispering to the woman beside him wearing the same distinctive article. They didn't applaud as the rest did. Yet, judging from the content smiles on their faces, they were pleased with Pansy's work.

The press certainly was. Reporters swarmed backstage, screaming questions and taking photos. They barely allowed anyone room to breathe, even as the after party began, trailing their every move. 

Pansy took it in stride, twirling in her gown, posing for photos with as many members of the Malfoy crew as possible. Harry and Teddy were also subject to this, much to the latter's displeasure.

"Ugh," The teen groaned. Having finally escaped the woman's clutches, he collapsed next to Harry, who precariously moved his fifth glass of champagne away. "Too many pictures. Not enough food."

"There's a whole bowl of gummy bears with your name on it over at the food table."

The teen, hair a mussed jet black, jumped up. He shot Harry a wink, eyes switching to an elated amber, before he ran to stuff his face.

"You two look so alike. Is that your son?"

"Godson."

Marcus Flint sat in the seat Teddy left unoccupied, twisting so he was facing Harry. He drew a long sip from his wine glass as he regarded the teen.

"You look alike. Especially the hair."

"We get that a lot."

"I like it," A sly smirk. "It suits you."

Harry shuffled in his seat. Discomfort seeped into his core under the heat of the other man's leer. He sipped at his drink, offering a small smile. This only seemed to encourage Flint. He spoke in low tones, voice gravelly in a way that some people might have found seductive. His hand had tried to find its way to Harry's thigh, but he shifted away just in time, crossing his right leg so that his ankle would lay over his left knee. 

Flint only sat back.

"Parkinson did well," He said, pointing her way. "Look at that. The paps can't get enough of her."

Harry turned and, sure enough, the woman was absolutely beaming, waving out at her adoring fans, arm-in-arm with a certain blond who smirked in that condescending way of his. She planted a kiss on his cheek, and the smirk turned fond as he tried to angle away from her lips, teasing her as he looked to the bar.

In a moment of breathless anticipation, his gaze fixed itself on Harry, then shifted to Flint. The smile on his face dropped completely.

"Bruv, let's have a toast yeah? To a bang-up job tonight?"

Ignoring the burn in his eyes, Harry accepted the glass the man held out. He took it all down, amber slipping past his throat like water, then set the glass aside.

"I-," he began. Then his eyes grew heavy. He lost his train of thought, lips too thick to move. He grabbed Flint's arm to steady himself.

"Whoa whoa whoa," The man was saying. "You alright man? You look like you need some help."

"'m fine. Just need to sit for while." The words didn't sound like his own. The last he felt was an unwelcomed arm around his waist as he was pulled under.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He woke up in nothing more than his pants. White sheets bunched up around his waist, revealing his nips to worst of the draft streaming in from the window. A dull ache pounded in his head as he sat up, running a hand through his hair. Judging from the frequency of the knocks against his skull, he gone around the bender last night. He tried not to drink as much after he got custody of Teddy-.

Oh fuck.

He was up and out of the bed that very clearly was not his own, his godson's name leaping from his tongue with increasing tones of panic.

"He's safe. He's with Pansy."

For the first time, he turned to look by the window. Behind a long mahogany desk, he sat, back turned to him so he only got a vision of mussed blond hair. Malfoy stretched, cuffs of his intricate bath robe coming down to his elbows, revealing a long swath of pale skin and delicate wrists.

Harry sat in bed again, casually throwing blankets over his lap, glancing about in a display of pure innocence. There was long silence, stretching between them as dawn broke out over the Seine. Draco rose with the sun. When he turned, it was with the reddish glow of morning behind him, casting a glow around his scowl and violet-rimmed eyes like some vengeful angel of wrath. He crossed his arms, simply leering. Harry unabashedly stared back.

"Glad to know he's okay."

"What were you doing with Flint?"

He broke the silence because he knew Draco never would, but the designer certainly had more to say than he. Once it started, the deluge only continued. A vein popped in his neck as he became visibly vexed, spitting venom and eternal damnation with a pen of vengeance in his hand, jabbing it threateningly as he spoke.

Harry could almost see wings spreading out of his back. Godric, he was pretty when he was mad.

"-so stupid! Drinking at a show! Did you see any other models doing that? You should just be happy Theo let you eat at all. And wasn't your father an Auror, Potter? Shouldn't you be able to tell when someone slips something into your drink? Especially when he makes it so obvious?"

The man crossed his arms again, annoyance in every corner of his features, as he stood right next to the bed. 

"Why didn't you answer my texts?"

He tried to roll his eyes, tried to walk away but Harry's hand darted out, catching his wrist. He allowed his thumb to swipe over the veins, relish the silk of the skin before he continued.

"You didn't answer my texts," he said once more. Draco tried to rip his arm away, but Harry came up with him, sheets tied precariously around his waist in a rippling sea of white. He fit his other hand at the blond's hip, chin dipping into his neck as the other turned away.

There was a mirror across them, just above the dresser. They looked good together, a string of contrasts used to make a portrait. Black hair against blonde. Pale skin against a deep tan. Grey eyes met green in the glass, as red climbed up high cheekbones.

"In case you've forgotten," The man's tone was brisk. He almost managed to hide the quiver. "You're paid to be at my beckon and call. Not the other way around."

"So call me," he murmured. The faint scent of lemon and sandalwood hung at the crook of his ear and neck. Harry pressed his nose against it, lips meeting skin in a gentle brush. There was a ripple beneath his grasp as Draco shuddered, baring his neck to allow better access. He took it, pressing kisses and bites against the skin. His hand wandered, slipping past the silk of the bathrobe into the heat within. Fingertips skirted ribs, circling his navel before catching on the hem of the other pants.

Harry turned them, pushing Draco back till he sat atop the vanity, chasing his lips with a fury. The artist's touch was frantic, going from gripping his shoulders to tangling up in his hair as the model grasped his thighs. Harry pulled at the knot holding the robe together, and just as quick, he was sent back.

Draco blinked, arms outstretched. A soft "No," spilled from his lips as he adjusted his clothes. His eyes were still hazy, lips a plump rouge, but he had enough control over his senses to rip his gaze away from Harry's.

"I don't...I don't understand."

"Blaise says the cosmos aligned for me. That they brought you to me."

"Then it's meant to be! That's a good thing Draco. Stop pushing me away." 

He sprung, going to grasp the man's hands, to brush his hair back or kiss away that troubled purse to his lip, but he was held at bay by a single look. The aristocratic mask was back into play. Draco crossed the room in three long strides, settling into his chair like a throne. Picking up his pen, he looked out at the blooming morn, where Paris stretched into the new day. He sighed, so soft Harry had to strain to hear the sorrow of it.

"Sometimes the stars bring disaster."  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"And-And that's when he said that-that 'Sometimes the stars bring disaster' but Gin, like, what the fuck does that even mean?"

Harry could hardly get the words out. His nose was stuffed, eyes stinging with unshed tears, as he went through the story for the third time. He took another spoonful of ice cream, sure to get as much of the warm chocolate biscuits he threw in the pint as possible into one bite. 

The woman took a spoon from her own pint, tears freely flowing as she ran a hand absent-mindedly through his hair. It wasn't his predicament she was crying at. The telly blared with the sound effects of a dramatic confession and flashbacks.

"No man will ever love us as much as Juan Miguel loves Marichuy." She said, sobbing as the events of the telenovela unfolded. How she and Teddy managed to watch without subtitles, Harry didn't know. 

His godson shoved an entire biscuit in his mouth from his place on the carpet, muttering about Victoire, that girl from school he fancied, as the two characters on screen were swept into an embrace.

Not receiving an adequate amount of attention, Harry pulled out his phone to call the one person he knew didn't have anything better to do.

"It is 8 PM on a Sunday Pots. This better be good."

"Can you come over?"

"...I'm on my way."

In a record time of 30 minutes, there was a banging at his door. She didn't bother to wait for his assent before she came in, black fur billowing in the breeze of her strut as she extended her hands out for an embrace.

"My little turtledove!"

And like a moth to light, Teddy ran into her hug, careful to set his ice cream aside. She leaned back, cupping his face with her palms as she turned him from side to side.

"See? I told you: witch hazel and charcoal masks. Cleared that acne right up. Just keep eating right and you'll look like liquid gold for Theo's-."

She stopped short. Looking at the scene in front of her, gaze flicking from the empty wine bottle to the half-eaten pints of ice-cream to the empty pack of biscuits. Finally, her gaze rested on Ginny's hand, combing through Harry's hair with the ease of an ex-lover.

"Draco hates me," Harry groaned just as Ginny whined, "No man will ever love me."

She brought her hands to her hips, lips pursed as she whipped out her gloves.

"Well, I suppose you'll have to tell me all about it. C'mon Ted. Let's take these two out. The best way to get over it, is to forget about it."

"Can we go to the carnival down the way?"

"...I don't see why not."

That's how they got roped into piling into Pansy's little corvette. Ginny and Harry collapsed over one another in the back seat, silently sobbing as the two knuckleheads in the front rapped along to whatever tunes popped up on the radio.

Harry winced when a particularly nasty line from Kanye West came along, which Teddy and Pansy screamed aloud. He found himself grateful when they wheeled into the parking lot, fighting off the urge to muzzle his godson's mouth shut and hide him away from the vulgarity of the world.

"How terribly plebian," Pansy said as she stepped out of the car. She pulled on her black shades, shielding her expression from the neon lights and exuberant colors. A click from her car remote forced the trunk to open, revealing three racks of shoes. She sat in the boot, pulling off her heels to replace them with fur lined loafers.

"Those were Versace," She said in explanation. "Vintage. Straight from Gianni's vault. I'd never wear them to attend such riff-raff."

"But those are Gucci," Teddy protested, pointing at her new slips. Pride spread across the woman's face. Taking the teens arm in her own, she cooed over his 'good eye' and 'developing skills'.

"Oh my little turtledove," She sighed. "I might make an apprentice out of you yet." 

This was they carried on, Ginny and Harry getting dragged behind the troublesome pair as they tackled zero gravity, carnival games, and the Ferris wheel. Teddy had the sense to bring his polaroid along, getting more than a few shots of their most obnoxious moments, such as when Ginny had the nerve to turn the water-gun on Harry rather than her target, effectively wetting the front of his shirt and his glasses. She won the most games, much to her and Teddy's glee. Taking the huge white bear she won from whack-a-mole, she handed it to the teen with a smirk.

"For you to give to Victoire." She said, teasingly. Teddy had replied with something snarky and undoubtedly filled with teenage nonchalance when Pansy stepped between them. Pressing a finger to her lips, she pointed to the far side of the grounds, where a large grassy field was fenced off. Dumbledore's Playground had been closed down to make adequate room for the carnival, but Parkinson paid that fact no mind as she crept to the fencing. After quickly glancing about to make sure no one was looking, she scampered over the barrier and into the darkness beyond, walking as if everything was just dandy. Ginny and Teddy shared a look, before running off to do the same, leaving Harry no choice but to follow.

By the time he had jumped off the interlinked chains, Teddy had snatched up the inflated football he won from a dart toss and challenged Ginny to a little game. The two went off, already punting the ball further than his eyes could travel. Harry moved to join them, but Pansy caught him by the bicep, steering him off to the swing set. 

She took off her glasses. Her gaze was sharp in the fairy lights, red lips pressed into a thin line that revealed nothing about her disposition.

"Tell me everything," She demanded, and he did. Starting from the kiss he stole after brunch, to the unanswered texts and finally the events that followed her show. 

"And he said something like "The stars bring disaster". I don't understand Pans. It shouldn't be this complicated."

She was silent for a moment or two, drumming her nails against the table.

"Draco is very...particular." She said finally. "He's the most ambitious out of all of us. Once he has a goal in mind, no one can convince him otherwise. If he thinks something will get in his way, he cuts it off and throws it away without a second glance. It was how he was raised. Cold, calculative, but always aspiring to something greater."

She turned to him, and something akin to pity swirled in her eyes.

"He needs this. He's been working on this collection for a year. He's been working to get to where he is now for longer. I'm asking you not only as his friend, but yours too: Give him space. Let him get his Grand Couturier status, and then pursue him. He won't take you seriously before then. All you can do right now is support him."

He frowned, not at all pleased with her answer. Sensing this, she pulled a long, sweet smirk.

"But let's say he did succumb to your masculine wiles? You wouldn't have invited me over then, hmm? You would've had him instead. Great to know I'm always doomed to be second in your heart. Oh, the pain of it all."

Her voice went up three octaves till it turned into a shriek of delight as he pushed her swing to the side. Getting out to do it properly, he gave her a couple forceful shoves, sending her higher and higher till one of her loafers flew off.

Only to land right on the hood of an Auror car. A sudden hush fell over them all as Ginny and Teddy came back to see what the noise was all about. Teddy took one glance at Pansy, hopping around on one foot until Harry threw her over his shoulder, then at the lost shoe. To a chorus of whispered 'No's and 'Oh sweet Merlin's he dashed over the near fence to the car, picked the loafer up by the fur and ran around to the far side, searching for the parking lot as the terrifying screech of the car alarm rang out.

The trio followed, scrambling to get over the far side of the fence as the sound only seemed to get louder.

"Oi! C'mere you punks!"

Two big burly men came clambering after them, swinging clubs as their tell-tale red uniforms shone in the glow of the carnival. Pansy was screaming for him to hurry, breath warm against his ear as he all but ran over the chains. Ginny laughed at his side, hair a stream of fire at her back, as she ran with them to find Teddy already in the driver's seat.

"Drive!" Pansy demanded, shoving the keys into the teen's hands. They somehow managed to clamber into the car and speed away before the Aurors could even get a sight of their license plate.

It wasn't until they were well on their way did Harry realize who was in the passenger seat. Pansy caught his horrified gaze in the mirror, and winked, going back to taking her makeup off with a wipe.

"Teddy what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I'm driving Harry! I'm really doing it!"

"With what license?"

After a new surge of panic, during which Pansy had to instruct Teddy how to pull over as Ginny went into bouts of hysterical laughter, they were resituated. Pansy took her rightful place as driver, both shoes securely on. Teddy crossed his arms in the passenger seat, but nothing could erase the elated grin on his face.

"Did you see that Harry? I drove man! Godric, I bet Dad and Mum would be so proud of me. Making my own money off of modeling. Driving a fancy car. I bet they'd have loved to see me now."

"You did great Teddy. Just, next time we'll try to practice when you have your permit, yeah?"

"And you'll teach me how to work Uncle Sirius' bike!" There was no question, just the brightness of excitement in his godson's eyes as they turned from their usual green to his father's dark brown. Pink began to creep out of the boys’ roots. Harry had to place his hand over Teddy's head, forcibly ruffling his hair till he got the hint and changed back.

Once they made it back to his place, Teddy and Ginny took to their own tasks: setting up the couches for a sleepover. 

"You're welcome to stay the night."

Pansy laughed, a nice little tinkling noise as she held up her phone.

"Please. Draco's already seen my Instastory. He's ready to murder me for even doing so much as look at you."

She brushed his cheek, placing a fond kiss against his jawbone. "If I stay the night, he'll implode. Ta' for now Pots."

She turned on her heel, ever graceful as she sashayed out, but at the door, she paused,

"Tell that Ginevra girl that boys are a pain in the ass. She should try her luck with the fairer sex."

Harry was left to splutter after her saucy wink before the door shut behind her.

"What. A. Babe."

"You could say that again."

Gin and Ted bumped fists, locking it up before slapping palms and tugging their hands down. At Harry's stunned gaze, they only laughed, then slowly but surely, he found himself laughing too. Settling between the two, he let the sense of a content mirth wash over him.

Give him space. He could do that. He was the most patient person he knew. How hard could it be?

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thanks for checking this fic out. Drop a comment if you're digging it. Follow me on tumblr (@skaryskylar) for any updates, questions, general good times, etc. I love hearing from you guys and love the fact that you all love this fic!


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